Pandora's Shadow: Never Ending Rain
by Onhiro
Summary: The war has finally ended. Now, the survivors must regroup and rebuild. Wounds must heal, and the future comes sooner than expected. Now comes the end, an end of peace and prosperity, though not without challenges in and of itself. After all, where would the fun be in that?
1. Planetfall

**AN- And here is the beginning of the sequel of Pandora Sucks, which I've been kind of sitting on for a while. College. I'm sure you all understand. Now, before we kick this bad boy off, I'd like everyone to have a moment of silence for Japan, and to pray for the Libyan rebels who are trying to bring democracy to their country without the United States force feeding them it. Huh. Not much else to say, other than I hope that you enjoy this story, and that you'll be patient with me. We're starting to get into the hectic time of the school year. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this first chapter.**

**READ, ENJOY, AND PLEASE REVIEW!**

PLANETFALL

Pandora, a large moon orbiting the planet Polyphemus of the Alpha Centauri system. It held the last chance for the salvation of Earth, the superconductor Unobtanium. That was why _they_ were there. The RDA had messed up its chance to have mining rights on Pandora, and now the entire Earth had banded together under one banner, one cause, one fight: save the Earth, no matter the cost. Now, after five years of preparation and five years of travel, they had finally arrived. They were the EEF, the Earth Expeditionary Force, a multinational army that had been training ever since the situation with the Na'vi had turned hostile. British, German, Spanish, Russians, Japanese, Chinese, Americans, even Martians, all had trained to the extent of their abilities, going through countless simulations, studying Na'vi tactics as well as the tactics the RDA had used on the surface, figuring out what worked and what didn't. New armor was made for foot soldiers, combat vehicles were developed, and combat aircraft were tested in the worst of Earth's environments.

Now, after so many years of preparing, it was their chance. No paltry bands of mercenaries were they; they were professional soldiers, contracted to the cause of protecting the mother planet. None of them expected to go home, either. Pandora was now their home. They would die there, whether through combat or through natural means, it didn't matter. They were permanent colonists as much as soldiers, though civilians would be following the military push once the situation on Pandora stabilized. These thoughts and more ran through the mind of 1st Lieutenant Ellen Storch as she made her way through the weightless cargo bay of the Valkyrie Trans-Atmospheric Vehicle that was going to be making several runs with its brother TAV from their ISV to the surface of Pandora. Her company was amongst the first to be flying down to the surface of the moon in the entire fleet that was now orbiting Pandora, an honor that she would not ever forget. Out of the eight hundred soldiers transported by the four ISVs now silently floating above Pandora, it was Delta Company, 2nd Battalion, 4th Special Operations Group of the EEF that was being selected to make the first planetfall. She had just finished getting her platoon's roll call, and was now heading to the shuttle's cockpit to inform her company commander. She pulled herself into the cockpit to find Captain Burns on the radio with the other unit commanders, and rather than bother him, she went to the position of attention, a neat trick while floating several inches off the deck.

The moment Captain Burns took off the headset, she snapped off a smart salute. "Sir, Lieutenant Storch reporting as ordered, third platoon is all up and strapped in, sir!" Glancing back at her briefly before fully facing her and saluting her crisply and quickly, dropping his salute so that she could do the same.

"Well done, Lieutenant," he nodded, "stand at ease, such as it were." She knew what he meant. While floating through the air, it didn't make all that much sense to stand (float) with feet shoulder width apart. Instead, she relaxed, and clasped her hands loosely behind her back. "Storch, do you know why our company is being selected to be the first to get on planetside?"

She answered truthfully. "No, sir, but I figured it was because we're special forces, therefore more disciplined and trained for the event."

"Close." He motioned for her to look out the wide windows that dominated the front of the cockpit, and she pulled herself closer to where he was so she could see. What she saw stole her breath away. A beautiful blue, green, and white orb hung seemingly motionless in space, its backdrop completely dominated by Polyphemus, the gargantuan gas giant taking up most of the visual field, beautiful with its soft swirls and streaks of blue and purple. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"I haven't seen that much green before in my life, sir," she admitted, and felt a brief flare of anger at how humanity had treated Earth. Earth had once been just as green as Pandora. Now it was grey and brown, an urbanized husk of a planet. "I can't wait to get down there."

"That's the motivation we need, Storch. The moment we reach the moon's surface, we have a mission."

"The Harrison retrieval?" As per common sense, the years leading up to the invasion were spent training for specific missions in a facility that matched the exact dimensions of Hell's Gate. One such mission was the retrieval of any humans still loyal to Earth. Upon reaching Pandora, it was discovered that there was still one such man: Sergeant James Harrison, who had diligently been writing reports for the past decade. His name had quickly circulated amongst the officers, and she looked forward to moving out on a mission so soon after getting boots on the ground.

Captain Burns nodded. "Your platoon is the one that takes the mess hall and the living quarters, correct? If things go according to schedule, we'll be arriving at Hell's Gate at around thirteen hundred hours, so your team will most likely encounter him at the mess. You'll find the most current picture of him in this briefing," he said as he handed her a holoboard, and she took it, hazel eyes briefly scanning the data there, focusing on the picture, committing the image to memory.

"Roger that, sir." Without another word, he turned away, obviously dismissing her, and she shoved off of the bulkhead, gliding through the somewhat stale air of the shuttle to her seat. Checking to make sure her gear was all accounted for, she strapped into the seat, securing herself with the heavy duty harness and relaxing. No reason to get worked up when they still had hours to go before the operation started. Currently, she only had her three nine-man rifle squads, her platoon sergeant, and her Radio Telephone Operator with her, though once everything got situated, she'd have her weapons squad, which had her two General Purpose Machine Gun teams of three men each, her two men equipped with anti-material rifles (advanced 20mm rifles that were light enough to be carried by a single man but powerful enough to drop the biggest of creatures on Pandora with a well placed shot…she hoped), and her weapons squad leader. She'd also have her combat medic and her field artillery forward observer with her, for a total of forty-one soldiers. However, each Valkyrie could only carry sixty troops, so the three rifle platoons of Delta Company were being split up between two Valkyries. She was in the second Valkyrie with second platoon and Captain Burns, whereas the entirety of first platoon along with all of the headquarters element to Delta Company (all sixteen of them, as Captain Burns was with the second Valkyrie) was in the first Valkyrie. The remaining soldiers would be ferried down, probably while they were conducting their raid.

Glancing left and right to get a quick count of her platoon again, she sucked in a breath. "Third platoon!" she barked, voice sharp, cutting over the chatter of troops talking and the rattle of gear getting put together, and the twenty-nine other soldiers under her command stopped talking and looked to her. "It's confirmed, we're retrieving Harrison." Instantly the mood within the shuttle changed, becoming more charged and focused. Men and women began to check weapons and magazines, making sure that batteries were charged on red dot sights, range finders, and other such equipment. As she rattled off the mission particulars in a classic Operations Order, her mind wandered to other things, such as what was waiting for them on the surface of Pandora. Finishing, she looked up from the holoboard. "Any questions?" she asked, looking around, and a soldier raised towards the back of the shuttle raised a hand. John Hersey, an automatic rifleman from second squad. "Yes, Specialist?"

"Ma'am, could you repeat the ROE again, I didn't catch them the first time."

She almost rolled her eyes. He heard her fine the first time, she could see it in the anticipatory set of his face. He just wanted to hear it again. "The rules of engagement are as follows: any armed resistance from the humans still on Pandora are to be met with lethal force. Unarmed resistance will be met by nonlethal counters. I shouldn't have to explain it, but let's be absolutely clear: if they shoot at you or come at you with a drawn blade, drop them, but only the one with the weapon. If they are throwing something relatively harmless like a rock or something, the soldiers with shotguns are equipped with stun rounds for just such an occasion."

"Roger that, ma'am, thank you." Hersey leaned back in his jump seat, idly stroking his light machine gun, eyes distant and a cold smirk on his lips. While she kept her face carefully clear of emotion, she knew _exactly_ how he felt. While she wasn't particularly looking forward to combat (only because she might lose soldiers underneath her command, and that was something NO soldier looked forward to) she hoped that the traitors sitting on the moon below them were stupid enough to put up a fight. They knew the names of everyone that stayed behind, as well as their number. Less than two hundred _scientists_ and SecOps personnel would not be able to stand up to a lightening raid, especially if the commandos conducting the raid had the element of surprise. Oh, it would be so satisfying if someone decided to pick up a gun against them…they'd stand no chance.

The intercom crackled to life. "All personnel, stand by for planetfall." Her heart skipped a beat, before kicking it up a notch. She wet her lips, and noticed that her hands were tightly gripping her rifle. She didn't bother to relax them as the entire shuttle shuddered heavily, and she could feel it falling. After a few heartbeats, the craft rumbled to life, and she could feel the G's pulling at her as the craft began its powered descent down to the moon below, and she couldn't help the grin that jumped to her face. They were well and truly on their way…to war, to saving humanity, and to their new home. Knowing that they still had a long flight ahead of them, she settled back in her seat, and forced herself to relax. It took her time, but she eventually fell into a light doze, and stayed that way until the shuttle was making its final approach.

"Lieutenant?" Her eyes snapped open at her platoon sergeant's voice, and she looked over to the man, alert for whatever he had to tell her. Sergeant First Class Yong-sun Tan, a short and wiry Korean national who had served in the Korean Marine Corps before he was selected to have the honor of being part of the EEF. He was a quiet, intense man whose English still bore a faint accent. He also scared the shit out of her. He had the feel of a man who had seen a lot of action, who had both seen and done horrible things. However, he was her anchor point, and she knew that she could always rely on him for guidance. He wouldn't take command of the platoon unless he was the last one to take control, but she knew that if she ever faltered, he'd be there to quietly offer a suggestion, to get her back on the path of leadership.

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"We are five minutes from landing, ma'am. Orders are to put our exopacks on now."

She nodded. "Roger that, Sergeant." After quickly glancing around to make sure that the rest of her platoon was getting their gear on, she pulled on her exopack, listening for the soft hiss that meant it was engaged. Once it was functioning properly, she checked to make sure that everything else was functioning properly. The exopacks that the EEF had were new and improved, and had been field tested exhaustively. The lenses alone were expensive as hell, but were also interchangeable, given the right tools. They had the standard clear lens, and then there was the tinted lens that she and her platoon currently had equipped, more for a psychological edge than anything else. There was a third and experimental lens that was thicker, but had light amplifying abilities. It worked much like night vision goggles, only lacked the ability to amplify light as much as dedicated goggles. However, she remembered being briefed that due to the bioluminescent nature of the flora and fauna of Pandora, the light amplifier lenses were sufficient enough in giving humans better vision at night that NVGs weren't needed. She'd believe that when she saw it.

Other features improved better padding for the armor shell, which was also improved, more as protection from the smaller species of animal on Pandora than against the Na'vi. If a Na'vi hit a human on the head with the intent to cause serious damage, they would, helmet or no helmet. One of her favorite features was an HUD feature that included a compass, motion sensor, and a GPS map that was linked with satellites that were being released into orbit probably even now. If she looked over at a soldier in her platoon, she'd be able to see their basic vitals (which were updated every ten seconds by their suit), how far away they were, name and rank, and status, such as conscious, unconscious, or dead. She could see all of her medical information at the lower left corner of her HUD. The medic would be able to see more in depth medical information, from what she understood , but she saw just enough to keep tabs on her troops.

The exopack was connected to their full body suit through a wireless connection, which meant that 'packs were not interchangeable between soldiers, something that had been drilled into all of them repeatedly. It was their suit that kept tabs on their vitals, and also could detect a wide variety of trauma and do basic aid depending on the wound. If struck by a Na'vi arrow, for example, the effects of the neurotoxins would be detected within moments of being hit, and the antidote would be administered automatically by the suit, all while the area around the wound was being compressed to put pressure on the wound to slow bleeding. A broken limb could also be detected and automatically splinted, as well. An overheated soldier would have the suit activate several disposable cold packs located at key areas around the body as well as send a heads up to the unit medic so that the soldier could get treated as necessary. Though it wasn't expected to happen on the hot and humid surface of Pandora, the suits also came prepared to treat hypothermia in much the same way, only with heat pads. If they weren't kill outright, the suits were expected to increase soldier survivability by seventy percent.

The armor was also upgraded, but there was only so much you could do against arrows that had enough force to completely pierce through an armored soldier or through the canopies of Samsons and Scorpions. If anything, their torsos were actually less armored, in order to shift more armor out to their limbs so that if attacked by viperwolves, a soldier could take a bite to the forearm, upper arm, lower leg, or thigh without worrying about skin breaking. The armor wasn't foolproof, but was a fair sight better than the armor previously used, which only covered the torso, and when the Na'vi were able to shoot through that armor regardless…Storch was content with having less armor on her torso and more on her extremities when the torso armor wasn't doing her jack shit, anyway. Plus, even when fully loaded with assault pack, tactical vest, ammo, weapons, and all the other little knickknacks that soldiers carried, the current armor was less restrictive than the old gear.

"Attention all personnel, we are landing in five…four…three…two…one…mark." The shuttle rumbled and shuddered as it made contact with the ground, and Storch slapped at the quick release for her harness, and was on her feet, clipping her rifle to her vest as she quickly grabbed her duffel bag from under her seat.

"Third platoon, on your feet!" Tan shouted, voice surprisingly loud for such a small man, and there was the loud rustling and clacking of men and women getting ready. "Masks secure!"

"One up!" she shouted in response, and the next man shouted that he was up, and so on until Tan shouted that he was up, as well. "We will be going where the base personnel direct us to go, hoo-ah?" she barked, and the platoon roared an affirmative. "Third platoon is up!"

"Second platoon is up!"

"All personnel, ramp is dropping, say again, ramp is dropping." A red light turned green, and there was a mechanical growling as the ramp began to descend, and she could _see_ the difference in atmosphere come roiling in, and she flinched slightly as the Pandoran air reached her, humid and wet and hot. She instantly began to sweat, which her suit's bottommost layer began to wick away from her skin in an effort to keep her cool. She shifted uncomfortably as her forehead also began to bead sweat, the beads slowly rolling down her forehead before gathering in her eyebrows, eventually ending up dripping into her eyes, stinging them.

"Platoon, atten-_hut_! Forward, _march_!" Tan shouted, and as one, they all stepped off on their left foot, an entire side of the cargo shuttle moving with military precision, showing derision against the dense atmosphere that pushed against them like a steady breeze, keeping in step despite the lower gravity that lightened their bodies, that made it that much harder for boots to grip the ground. Third Platoon, Delta Company, 2nd Battalion, 4th Special Operations Group of the EEF had made planetfall, and was the first unit to get boots on the ground. As they stepped into the golden Pandoran sunlight, not one of them felt fear. All of them faced their destiny with all the professionalism and hardened military discipline that they could muster. They would need that professionalism and discipline soon, far sooner than they expected. However, they would forever be remembered for being the first of the EEF to touch Pandoran soil…soil that they would forever call home.


	2. Zulu Three Seven

**AN- Woo, the second chapter! Now this story isn't just a one shot anymore. This one is also longer than the previous chapter, so that's something else to look forward to. Now, one of my reviews caught my attention. They complained of this story showing Sue-ish characteristics, and I'd like to lay that fear to rest. My characters are HUMAN. They have weaknesses and strengths. Their armor isn't infallible. Their will isn't unbreakable. They don't have freakishly good looks. They don't have halos floating above their heads. There is a reason why the commanding officer of the EEF chose to land an invasion force at a pre-established base rather than just nuke the Na'vi from space. Please give the story more time to develop before putting down a story for ill chosen reasons. That said, this chapter is written from the point of view of SFC Tan, and includes back story on Lieutenant Storch, and this chapter ends where the epilogue of this story's predecessor, Pandora Sucks!, begins. Hopefully you all enjoy this chapter!**

**READ, ENJOY, and PLEASE REVIEW!**

ZULU THREE SEVEN

SFC Yong-sun Tan was a humble man, who had strived his entire life to honor his family and his people. He had started learning Tae Kwon Do at the tender age of ten, and moved on to Jiu-jitsu and Gung Fu (so commonly called Kung Fu by Westerners, silly people that they were) once he had achieved his black belt in the martial art of his home country. When his family had asked him to represent them honorably in the Korean Marine Corps, he had done so without question, even though he had desired to be an architect. He had enjoyed the rigorous training that was unrivaled by most other nations, enjoying waking up an hour before sunrise to do one of several physical training exercises. Full contact Tae Kwon Do for an hour on some mornings, running through the streets with tires chained to them, wrestling in the snow while shirtless, or running on the beach while holding a log above ones head were all excellent forms to make one hearty and healthy.

Breakfast was predominately kimchi on boiled rice with fish on the side and some hot tea. A fine trick, given that all the plants were grown in greenhouses and the fish were farmed in gigantic tanks, because the Earth could no longer support life on her own. That was the one bonus to joining the military, being able to eat food that was not widely available to the general populace. He served for three full terms with distinction, always committing more than one hundred percent to any task that he was given, and was rewarded by reaching the rank of Staff Sergeant and the position of Squad Leader in time for the great intercontinental war. He led his men well, not losing a single man to enemy fire, and he had seen all faces of war. No one could say that he had not done his duty flawlessly in order to bring pride to his family name. Due to his numerous citations and medals, he was given a new honor to bear for his family. He was one of very few Koreans being selected to serve with the Earth Expedition Force. The honor was to come with a promotion to Platoon Sergeant and the rank of Sergeant First Class (though he knew that some of the men and women in the platoon called him Gunny, in recognition of his Marine background), a platoon under the command of a young female lieutenant by the name of Ellen Storch.

His first impression was not necessarily favorable. The first few things that he had noticed was that she was one or two inches taller than his own five feet and four inches, had dirty blonde hair that wasn't as short as a male high-and-tight but shorter than he had seen on any other military female, and had eyes neither blue nor green, but somewhere in between. She had been talking to another junior officer, and he had waited patiently for them to finish before introducing himself. She hadn't been pleased with the 2nd Lieutenant, her eyes focused and glittering with annoyance even as she chewed the lower ranking officer out. He had spent a very brief moment appraising her body not as a soldier but as a man, and found her too tall, too muscular (not a bodybuilder's body, but she was obviously athletic and used to pulling her own weight…he hoped), too light-skinned, and though her fatigue jacket hid her curves for the most part, he suspected she was a high B cup, slightly too large for his tastes. In short, she was too western.

Then the moment was over, and he was back to being a professional soldier, and he would never look at her with a man's eyes again. A good thing, as he was ten years older than her twenty-two. Just old enough to make him feel like an older brother or cousin, or even a young uncle at a stretch, should he have been interested. He stood at sharp parade rest, and listened as she lit into the younger Ell-tee, noticing several other things about her military bearing. Her beret, the black of the EEF Special Forces, was perfectly formed and clean, no trace of lint on it, its crest and flash to standard and glittering in the mid-afternoon sun. Her uniform was neatly pressed, almost to NCO standard, and her black boots were either polished or came pre-polished, as some officers did to both look good and skimp out on the maintenance time. A discrete glance told him that they were polished. Unusual. She was an American female, so her neat uniform was likely a point of vanity than a point of professionalism. "…and if you ever do things your way again and not my way, I will report you to the MPs and company commander myself, do you understand me?" she snarled in conclusion, and he arched a brow as the younger officer stammered out an affirmative before practically fleeing. Loud, and expecting things to be done her way. Just what he expected from an American.

Then she turned to him, and he snapped to attention, boot heels popping together before his arm swept up in a sharp salute, keeping it to perfect standard, not letting his already forming opinion of the young woman before him deter his professionalism and honor. "Sergeant First Class Tan, reporting as ordered, ma'am!" he barked.

Instantly she came to attention as well, and returned his salute with one of her own that had just a little more pop than his, and was completely to standard. He fought not to stare as she dropped her arm, allowing him to do the same. Most officers, even the junior officers, didn't salute properly. It was a fact of life that he had to endure as a non-commissioned officer. Here was an officer who saluted better than he did. "Lieutenant Storch, Sergeant, it's a pleasure to meet you. Go ahead and relax," she said with a smile, her previously tense and irritated stance melting away instantly as she offered him her hand. He shook it reflexively; her grip was firm and steady, no weakness about her. "Lieutenant Parker," she said with a jerk towards where the officer had disappeared off to, "decided to schedule a training exercise without consulting me first, and given that I'm the training officer until the rest of the platoon comes in, that's a bad idea." She stepped off, and he walked with her, nodding. So she wasn't just being power hungry, she had a reason for her rant. "How long have you been in the military, Sergeant?"

He blinked, thrown off for a moment. "Fourteen years and three months," he replied after a pause, stepping around a parked APC.

"Alright, here's the deal. I'm a mustang. You are familiar with the term, are you not?" Once again, he nodded. A mustang was an officer that had previously been an enlisted soldier. That might explain the way her uniform was, as well as her perfect salute. "I enlisted when I was seventeen, and made it to the rank of specialist before my CO got me into OCS three years ago. I know just as well as anybody that five years of military service and a shiny bar does not magically give me more experience than you, especially since you've seen combat and I haven't." They reached the Company Building, and he opened and held the door for her, and she nodded her thanks as they both entered, removing their covers. Her hair was longer on top, he noticed, maybe an inch in length, as opposed to the half-inch length on the sides and back of her head. "However, the military saw fit to name me in charge of this platoon, not you, even though we both know that you've had years more experience leading troops than I have. That being said, I'm going to lead the platoon to the best of my abilities, and when I mess up, I expect you to quietly nudge me back on to the right path. If I am uncertain, I will come to you for guidance, but I will make the final decision, and do not expect you to fight any decision I make, unless it's a glaring mistake. Take me to the side, _quietly_ inform me of your misgivings, but never openly fight me unless it's absolutely direly necessary, hoo-ah?"

He had nodded at that, shocked into silence. In the first five minutes of their meeting, she had countered every misconception he had of her. If she was speaking the truth, she was an officer willing to listen to her platoon sergeant, a true boon to any professional military. As their several year training period commenced, he found her to be willing to live up to her word. She did make mistakes, as all humans do, and it was to his surprise to find out that if he didn't seek her out, she'd seek him out, asking him how well she did as a platoon leader, what she could do better, how the situation played out in comparison to military campaigns that he had been on. When he told her, she listened attentively, took notes, and never made the mistake again. A few months into the training, he had decided that he was honored and privileged to have Ellen Storch as his platoon leader.

Other things besides her willingness to listen proved her to be a fine officer. She was clearly protective of her soldiers, and cared for every one of them. If they were sick, she'd make sure they got the best aid she could argue for. If they were disheartened, she would rise up their morale with an extra weekend pass that she managed to get somehow. If they were tired, she'd let them have longer rest periods. Despite being a female (one of seven total in the platoon) she could almost effortlessly pull her own weight and more, never faltering on any endurance trial or strength trial. She had spunk, as the westerners would say. Despite officers being notorious for lateness to formation because of the orders that they had to compose and the paperwork they had to fill out, she was always the first to the formation, beating even him. Frankly, she scared him. He wasn't quite sure what her source of energy was, but she seemed able to keep going even when everyone else wanted to stop. There were jokes that she was a bionic soldier, or maybe a cyborg or some such, but despite the jokes, the entire platoon was loyal to her, completely and absolutely.

Every soldier in 3rd Platoon knew that Ell-tee Storch would die for them, and the feeling was thus returned. Slowly, they gained the coveted position of best platoon in the company, and then in the entire battalion. Not all of that was due to the Ell-tee, but a fair amount of it was. Yes, he was a good platoon sergeant, and not one soldier in their platoon was dead weight, but if the platoon leader is a bad platoon leader, the best soldiers can be wasted. Given that they were also considered Special Forces as much as a conventional force, even more pressure was mounted on Storch to exceed expectations. She did so seemingly flawlessly, going through language training, demolitions training, hostage rescue tactics, small team tactics, guerilla warfare training, and a plethora of other subjects like a natural, though a careful observer (and he was nothing if not observant as an eagle) noticed that she began to lose weight towards the end of their training, that she had dark smudges under her eyes that didn't go away, and that she would rarely have difficulty performing for short periods of time.

Once they passed their training and were officially Special Forces personnel of the EEF, he cornered her, and demanded to know what was going on. He had attempted to do so during their training phase, but she had laughed it off, telling him to talk to her if she ever failed to complete the objective. She had struggled at times, but she had never failed. Once the training was done, however…

"Lieutenant Storch, you are a danger to yourself and to you soldiers if you do not tell me what's been going on these past ten months," he had said, trying to keep emotionless for sake of her pride, but frustration and concern had been evident in his voice. They were in their dress uniforms, and had just completed their graduation ceremony. Even under her makeup, she had looked so tired, face drawn and worn, but she had flashed him a victorious smile.

"Sar'nt," she had drawled, "I've been cheating the clock since training began. I'd get maybe four hours of sleep during weeknights, and then on the weekends I'd crash and sleep most of the day through on both days, only showing up for formation." She'd spend the four hours that she'd normally be sleeping getting all of the paperwork done, completing OPORDs, studying, and other such things, she explained further. He already knew that she had an uncanny ability to figure out just how much time needed to be spent on a task before it was completed, and she had used that skill to her advantage. She had been running on half as much sleep as she should have for the past two years. He didn't know if she was dedicated, crazy, or both. Still, he couldn't help but mention how much her family had to be honored to have such a soldier performing so excellently, forgetting momentarily that Westerners didn't place as much emphasis on familial honor as they did in Asia. However, instead of a confused expression, her face became carefully blank, devoid of all emotion. "Sergeant First Class, I have no family. I was abandoned as an infant, and no one ever wanted me. I spent my life in an orphanage, along with all the other undesirables."

He still cringed to this day remembering that hollow expression that might as well have been on a statue. He had apologized profusely, bowing repeatedly until she had ordered him to stop doing so and to never mention the conversation with anyone else. He had followed that order, and would do so until the day he died, even as he gained insight from it. He did everything for his family's honor. If he gave up, it would reflect poorly on his family, and that was not permissible. Lieutenant Storch, however…he was not a psychologist, but if he had to say, he would say that she was driven by an old, old anger at being abandoned by her parents and the fear of being seen as worthless and being abandoned again by what she viewed as her current family. She simply could not bear being anything but the best because she felt that she'd be cast away if she became 'worthless.' Not healthy, and it was probably subconscious on her part. He had seen the type, and if they weren't allowed to apply themselves, they generally fell apart, seeking alcohol, drugs, or even death. He had always kept an extra sharp eye on her after that, but she had never faltered since they graduated, and he didn't really ever expect her to. However, it was still a possibility. Anyone could break given the right circumstances, himself included. She just might be slightly closer to the breaking point than anyone else in the platoon, he couldn't really say for certain.

Regardless of that possible character flaw, she was a fine combat officer, though she'd be in trouble if she was still a combat enlisted soldier. He never said anything to her about it, but her marksmanship was the lowest in the platoon. She wasn't a _poor_ shot, of course, but she wasn't a _good_ shot. She just barely managed to maintain the accuracy that she needed to stay with the Special Forces. She was also not a strong hand-to-hand fighter. Oh, she knew the moves, and passed the examination and practical during training, but if she ever got into a real fight close in…well, it was his job to make sure that never happened. And sometimes he had his work cut out for him…

They came off the Valkyrie to his carefully sounded cadence, mindful of how exopacks could muffle one's voice, and once the sun's glare had worn off, he saw a soldier waving an arm at them from a position safely off the paved tarmac. Watching as Lieutenant Storch jogged over to meet the man, he guided the platoon over to where the two were now talking, all the while figuring out how Pandora affected him. The gravity wasn't as severe as it was on Earth, but definitely stronger than it was on Mars. It was also humid and hot, and it was probably worse out in the jungles than where they were. There was a pretty steady wind that whistled between what buildings he could see, and the air was denser than anything he's ever encountered before. It felt like walking against a steady breeze even when the air was still. Wind storms could be dangerous if they occurred. He also made a note to himself to enforce a strict mandatory hydration schedule for the entire platoon. Until they acclimated to Pandora, they'd be more susceptible to heat stroke and other such undesirable maladies. "Your left, your le-heft! Your left-right, your left!" he barked.

The platoon answered instantly with a roared, "You got it!" and he couldn't help but feel pleased. Cadence was the fife and drum of the modern military, and he still remembered most of the cadences he learned in basic. It was most unfortunate that the majority of the platoon didn't speak Korean. They reached the staging area, and he stopped them so that where Lieutenant stood Storch was dead center, saving her the need to do any unnecessary movement when she was done speaking with the RDA soldier. "Platoon! Stand at ease!" he belted out, and the soldiers visibly relaxed as he did a tight about face before assuming the position himself…before sighing heavily. Lieutenant Storch appeared to be agitated. And by agitated, he meant ready to start yelling at their RDA liaison. Not the best way to start a military campaign. Heavenly Buddha, preserve him. He popped to attention and turned back around. "Platoon, attention! Sergeant Winters, post!" The first squad leader jogged to stand in front of him, and threw up a sharp salute. Tan returned it. "Sergeant, take charge of the platoon, and put them at ease." Winters nodded, and Tan stepped back before marching towards Lieutenant Storch.

"Listen, _Corporal_, maybe they do things differently in the RDA _merc_ units, but in any self-respecting military unit, you address an officer with respect. I'll let you get away with not saluting, as I don't know if you consider this a field environment, but I swear to God that I'll have your-!"

"Lieutenant, the men are ready," Tan cut in, mid-rant, ready to face Storch's wrath, for the sake of keeping the peace. "Corporal…" he paused, looking at the man's jacket, "York, we are honored to have an esteemed soldier such as yourself meet us at our disembarkation point. We thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to lead us to our quarters and to the staging area for our first mission." Even while his tone was completely polite, as his honor demanded, he made sure to let a little steel creep into his voice as a warning to this dilapidated mercenary whose uniform was barely recognizable as such.

Corporal York looked from him to Lieutenant Storch and back before shouldering his rifle with a shrug. "Yeah, whatever." Without bothering to make sure that they were following, he stepped off, and Lieutenant Storch bristled before he laid a hand on her wrist.

"Ma'am, it's not worth it. Think about how it's been for these men. Let it go, we have bigger battles to fight." He could only imagine how her teeth must be clenched and her eyes veritably sparking with anger, but she sighed, visibly relaxing.

"All right, let's go." They all followed Corporal York to a series of sunken bunkers that had obviously been fortified not only to resist the fauna of Pandora but also to resist conventional armies equipped with artillery and air strikes. Interesting…and something to keep in mind. Why would they build the base in such a manner when their enemies were primarily armed with bows and knives? They all dropped their duffel bags and rucksacks in piles at the head of the barracks that was to be used by their platoon for the duration of their stay. Lieutenant Storch would move her equipment to the nearby officer quarters that housed the officers of the entire battalion, but for now her gear would stay with the platoon's equipment. After he made sure that the team leaders were accountable for all gear they were taking on the mission, he rounded up the men, and they were off again, now heading towards the sound of aircraft engines turning over. Roughly thirty minutes later, they were on a smaller airfield, away from the spaceport, where dozens of Samsons and Scorpions were warming their engines. He knew what was going to happen now. Hurry up and wait. The curse of being in the military.

Rather than just sit around and do nothing, however, he and Lieutenant Storch always tried to keep the men and women busy. In this case, they showed why one should always have their exopack on them. Lieutenant Storch had them line up, and lift their exopacks off of their faces just long enough to taste the toxic Pandoran atmosphere. The smell reminded him of ammonia or bleach, he thought as he coughed and hacked along with the rest of the platoon before resealing his mask. Always know how the environment effects you…one of the reasons why soldiers used to have to endure tear gas chambers in basic training. After they had all caught their breath, they did light PT, stretching out muscles that hadn't really moved in five years. Jogging around the perimeter of the airfield followed by side straddle hops followed by push-ups, they sweated and huffed and puffed, getting used to the oppressive heat and atmospheric density, as well as how much lighter they all felt. The lightness would probably be appreciated, at least until their muscles were acclimated to it, but that was in the future.

After the exercises, Lieutenant Storch had the teams break down and go through rehearsals, practicing medivacs and first aid, room sweeping and clearing, how to restrain enemy non-combatants, and many other little tasks that they might have to use on this raid. There was some grumbling about how they weren't the lucky ones doing the demolition job, how that was first platoon's job, but it was all harmless griping. He never said a word to those who were griping, but instead chose to suddenly appear behind the soldier doing the complaining and loom there silently until the soldier's battle buddies either fell over laughing at the clueless soldier or got them to turn around, wherein the soldier would nearly kill themselves by apologizing so many times. Sometimes it was enjoyable to be the ogre platoon sergeant. One could have fun, even while shouldering the honor and responsibility both.

Finally the word came through. Delta Company, board up. They'd be halfway to their objective before the fast movers, the combat jets caught up to them and held overwatch for them, Lieutenant Storch explained as he stood silently by her side, a silent pillar of support. She told them to not mess up, as that would really ruin her day…she didn't want to do all the paperwork associated with a screw up, she explained, and though they couldn't see her face, they could all hear the smile on her voice. She was joking. Shit. Briefly offering a prayer to Buddha for his small transgression, he followed behind her as she headed to her Samson. They wouldn't ride in the same bird, just in case something happened to one of them, but that didn't mean he couldn't offer one last word of encouragement to the young lieutenant. "Ma'am, you're going to do fine!" he shouted over the whining of spinning turbines and the dull roar of turning rotors. "Just follow your training, and you can't fail!" She stared at him for a moment, uniform flapping in the breeze from the rotors, and he could see himself reflected in her visor. After the pause, she nodded, and boarded her craft, securing herself in her seat. He jogged to his Samson, and likewise strapped in. They only waited for another ten minutes as the rest of the company got situated before he felt the power increase in his Samson, the whining turbines growing louder as they turned the rotors faster, and the craft vibrated around him. He flashed one last 'a-okay' sign to Lieutenant Storch's Samson, and then they were finally airborne, inches at first, and then feet.

"Woo, we're flyin'!" one of the men in the craft shouted, and Tan looked around the craft at the other nine soldiers that shared the Samson with him. Most of them looked excited, but he could tell that one or two of them were more reserved. One soldier tucked a well-worn book into a cargo packet, while another played with a medallion while staring off into space.

His radio crackled to life. "Tower, Sierra-two-fife is now airborne, and advancing along heading wun-eight-zero. Requesting permission to leave base airspace, over."

"This is tower, uh, you have permission to proceed to first waypoint. Godspeed, gentlemen."

"Roger, out."

He looked out over the base that was becoming more and more visible with every meter they climbed, and he noted several important features. This base lacked the massive walls that had been so prominent in Hell's Gate, but instead had berms that were maybe five meters high, regularly interspaced with fortified bunkers and what looked like pits for tanks to drive into, giving them cover while allowing them to fire at oncoming enemy forces. Concertina wire fences were the final obstacle faced by invaders, but were backed up by thickets of razor wire, as well as acres of plowed land that likely had landmines. He could also see small raised berms where claymore anti-personnel mines and fifty-five gallon drums full of jet fuel and laundry soap were buried. Instant napalm, and when coupled with the small explosive charge placed at the bottom of the barrel, one had the ignition source, as well as the means to propel the flaming, sticky liquid onto attackers. There were more Valkyries landing, and he spotted tanks offloading, as well as artillery pieces and anti-aircraft batteries. He made a note to look up what defenses the base actually had to offer. It wasn't a massive base, he could now see, but was large enough to have both the starport and two airstrips, one for jets and other fixed winged aircraft, and the other for the Samsons and Scorpions, it looked like. He could see an outdoor firing range, but the rest of the buildings were recessed bunkers of varying sizes. They'd need a map, or else they'd get lost amongst all the similar looking buildings. Then the rest of the Samsons and Scorpions were in the air with them, and they flew away from the base over the grasslands not yet touched by human lands.

He touched the throat mic, activating his radio's push-to-talk button. "Zulu-tree-six, this is Zulu-tree-seven."

Moments later, Lieutenant Storch answered, voice slightly scratchy over the radio. "Zulu-tree-seven, go ahead, over."

"Make sure to have everyone in your bird look out for local wildlife and the indigenous population. We likely aren't going to be received very well, over."

"Roger that, Zulu-tree-seven. Is that all? Over."

"That is all, Zulu-tree-seven, out." It wasn't much later when he spotted a herd of Hammer-headed Titanotheres, and he couldn't help but swallow reflexively. They were large enough to flip a tank…or simply stomp through the weaker top armor. Right now, however, they didn't seem at all concerned with the dozens of aircraft flying overhead, and instead continued to graze amongst the grass. An hour later, he was able to admire the majestic beauty of a flight of wild banshees that were flying maybe four hundred meters off the Samson's starboard side. They were beautiful creatures, indeed, but he knew from briefings that they could easily destroy a Samson or Scorpion, especially in large groups. This entire moon was deadly. It was not long after they saw the banshees that the edges of the jungle appeared on the horizon, a massive green carpet. Once they hit the border, it was another hour at top speed until they hit Hell's Gate. His palms started sweating, and he took a calming breath, reciting some of his prayers to himself, finding serenity. Anticipation would make him jumpy, would cloud his judgment. His peace stayed with him for the rest of the ride, allowing him to calmly catalogue the different species of animals that they flew over or past. Finally, however, the base came into view, and no amount of prayers or meditation would keep his heart rate down. As they roared over the walls at full throttle, he barely had time to notice how vegetation was creeping up the sides of the once unassailable barriers, but then they were inside the base, Samson screaming as it slowed down, coming down for a hard dust off. They hit the ground hard enough to jolt the Samson, and he slapped the quick release for his harness, jumping out of the cargo bay of the Samson with one fluid move. "Go, go, go!" he shouted, and his men jumped after him, following him to their destiny…

**AN- Okay, couple of things to clear up. Zulu is the overall call sign of Delta Company, the 'three' seen in the chapter title is representative of the third platoon, and the six represents Lieutenant Storch, whereas the seven is used by platoon sergeants. Also, they are using the phonetic alphabet when talking on the radio, including the numbers. Instead of 'one, two, three' etc, it's 'wun, two, tree, fower, fife, six, seven, eight, niner, zero.' Hopefully that helps, some.**


	3. Same Old Tired Story

**AN: So, here's chapter three. Longer than chapter one but shorter than chapter two, which just went on and on all on its own volition. It's kinda annoying when that happens...anyway, we meet a new person in the chapter. He probably won't have too many other chapters all on his own, but he's a very important person. Lieutenant Storch is important because she's in charge of a platoon. This guy is important because he's in charge of the entire operation. He holds more power than Colonel Quaritch could ever even dream of holding. Tell me what you guys think of him, I'm curious to see your opinions on the old chum.**

**Please read, enjoy, and review!**

SAME OLD TIRED STORY

The cardboard box made an odd 'fwumph' as it landed on the ground, and the man who had dropped it groaned as he straightened, back cracking. He was obviously on the tail end of a military career, face weather beaten and craggy, though his grey eyes sparkled with an inner good humor and his lips were quick to smile. His nose was largish, and his eyebrows were impressive, to say the least, though his hair was starting to thin, an obvious bald spot starting on his crown. "Alan, old boy, you've certainly done it now," he murmured to himself, accent most decidedly British, somewhere comfortably between posh aristocrat and lowly cockney, though closer to the aristocrat. Pulling a pocket knife out of his trousers, he flicked the worn yet still razor sharp blade with a well practiced movement, and ran it against the tape holding the box closed. Carefully folding the knife, he placed it on top of the large desk that was already in the room, noticing a thin sheen of dust on top of it, and he scoffed. "I say, that's a few minutes work for you," he muttered to the air as he opened up the box and withdrew a standard nameplate before placing it on the desk. Though it was a normal black plate with white lettering, any soldier realized the name on it was not so normal. 'Maj. Gen. A. Treleaven' the nameplate proclaimed into the artificial lighting of the largely empty room, and the man nodded to it, satisfied. "Just a start, but not so bad, if I dare say so myself."

Withdrawing more items from the box, he began to fill the empty desk. A holoboard, an electronic calendar. A glass ball that had a single star in the middle of it, a gift from his late wife that she had gotten him after he had made Brigadier General. A model of a Samson, a coffee cup that was large enough and had enough metal attached to it that it could be used as a last ditch weapon, and a pipe. Another nameplate went on the door, and two sabers were hung on the wall, blades crossed. Above the crossed blades, he hung the coat of arms of Britain, showing his obvious heritage. A picture of him and a smiling woman was the last thing to go on the desk, and he paused for a moment, smiling fondly at the woman. "Oh, Clara, how I miss you so," he whispered mostly to himself before he shook himself. "Right! Time to finish things up." He walked out of his room and into another office room, where two soldiers were setting up two desks. His aide-de-camps. "Captain Gaznayev, _Lef_-tenant Rockwell, have the either of you had afternoon tea yet?" The two officers looked up at him before shaking their heads, the Russian's face severe, the American's carefully blank. "_Lef_-tenant Rockwell, could you go fetch us coffee, tea, and some light food? I've worked straight through lunch, as I'm sure you both have, as well."

"Yes, sir, right away sir," the young Lieutenant said before hurrying out of the room, lips twitching. Treleaven knew full well that the young woman thought his British habits were quaint and amusing, and as long as she didn't let that opinion affect her quality of work, he let her keep those thoughts. Indeed, he found some of her choices of music likewise amusing.

"Captain Gaznayev, have you had word of the raid on Hell's Gate yet?" Normally, he'd keep his nose out of such small military exercises, letting the handful of colonels in the EEF handle such things, instead using his rank to clear major military operations and clearing the plans that the colonels presented to him. Military tradition and the chain of command stated that he not be personally involved in ninety-five percent of the military operations his little army conducted. However, this one was special.

"Da, General Treleaven, sir," Gaznayev responded, his hawk-like face and focused eyes settling on Treleaven, voice thick with his Russian accent. "They have retrieved the package, and are approximately thirty minutes out, sir."

"Thank you, Captain. Send some tea and sandwiches in when the _lef_-tenant returns. Also, tell me when the RDA commanding officer finally decides to answer my summons, if you don't mind." When Captain Gaznayev nodded, he returned to his office before settling down in the high-backed chair that sat behind the desk. Not too comfortable, he decided, but not bad enough to cause his old body any problems. He folded his hands over his stomach, which was honestly a little too large for a soldier, but he could still pass whatever PT test was put before him, even if he might struggle in one or two areas. He rested for just a few moments, listening to the building around him and the sound of more Valkyries coming in for landings, offloading more soldiers and material. After he felt more rested, he pulled his holoboard towards himself and began to compare numbers. How many soldiers he had coming in, including how many didn't wake up after the trip. Six soldiers out of the eight hundred didn't come out of their cryosleep, a tragedy for his force, considering how far from home they all were and how few they really were. As he filled battalion and company rosters, he tried to figure out the best way to deal with the RDA SecOps personnel. They had just as many troops as he did, and from what he heard, they were all hostile towards the EEF personnel. Even he was being disrespected by the RDA commander. The RDA commander should have been the one to meet him on the starport tarmac, but he had been greeted by a lieutenant, whose words were respectful in form but frosted in delivery. He saw problems looming in the near future.

A knock on his door. He looked up, and saw two shadowy silhouettes through the frosted glass of his door. He stood, knees creaking almost as much as the chair. "Enter."

The door opened, and Lieutenant Rockwell swept into the room with a tray with a tea pot and a small plate of sandwiches balanced precariously on it. She placed it on the desk before turning towards the man who had been standing behind her. "Would you like a mug of coffee with your chair, sir?" she asked, voice bright and cheerful. She was putting on airs.

"No." The answer was curt, the voice that delivered it dark and gravelly, and Treleaven appraised the man who had spoken. He was a tall black man, body strong and muscled, face chiseled. He exuded danger, and instantly Treleaven felt on edge. There was a deep-set hatred in those dark eyes, as well as a cunning intelligence. This man would prove to be an adversary, Treleaven's instincts screamed, and maybe one more dangerous than the Na'vi. He entered the room, and took a seat after Lieutenant Rockwell pushed two padded chairs into the room, not even bothering to wait for Treleaven's permission.

Lieutenant Rockwell paused, nervously shifting from foot to foot. "Is there anything else you want, sir?"

"Thank you, _Lef_-tenant, but that will be all." He couldn't help but notice the relief on Rockwell's face as she backed out of the room. "Major Randall, I do believe. I'm glad that you finally had time to see me." Like the lieutenant that had met him at the Valkyrie, his words were not combative, but his tone was decidedly cool. "I'm sure that you have already read the message that the RDA has sent you. Your tour is done, you can go back to Earth now. The RDA is expecting you to fly back with the ISVs now in orbit."

Major Randall simply stared at him, eyes hard as flint. Treleaven refused to be bullied, however, and held the man's gaze for a full five minutes before the younger officer finally spoke. "I'm afraid I won't be flying back to Earth anytime soon..._sir_."

_Just what I was afraid of_. _He's too angry, and wants revenge. Same sad, tired old story,_ he thought to himself, suddenly weary. "And why not, Major? Care to explain how you've managed to deduce that in the grand scheme of this operation? How is it that the desire of one man outweighs the entire situation?"

"Oh, it's very simple, General. If I leave, one of two things will happen. Firstly, the RDA SecOps will simply refuse to cooperate with you. This is the best situation you can hope for. What's more likely, however, is that the RDA personnel will view my banishment from Pandora as a hostile takeover, and will react in kind. While I don't doubt that the EEF would likely win the fight, we'd weaken you enough that the Na'vi would be able to overwhelm you, and we'd no longer have a foothold on Pandora. So, this is what's going to happen. I'm going to stay here, and we're going to..._cooperate_ with each other. I'm in charge of the RDA. You're in charge of the EEF. And together, we're going to blast the blue monkeys off this goddamn moon!" The last sentence was snarled, a mad gleam appearing in the man's eyes.

_Oh, blast._ Just what he needed, a military commander insane enough to be dangerous yet still smart enough to be impossible to remove easily. No doubt the entire RDA looked to Major Randall for leadership and support. The reports of disrespect from the RDA soldiers were signs of this. The EEF was an outside organization, showing up with new gear and shiny faces. They were as alien as the Na'vi at this point. He needed to change that as soon as possible. Knowing that he had lost this first battle, he nodded. "Very well, then. Major, it will be a pleasure to work with you to secure Pandora."

Randall nodded, stood, and showed himself out. Treleaven sighed wearily. Randall was going to be dug into Pandora like a tick, and there wasn't anything he could do to change that at the moment. It didn't matter that the EEF had operational authority, and that the RDA was now an extension of the EEF forces. The rules and regulations of Earth mattered little out here on the frontier. What mattered was force, and right now the two of them were equal. In fact, Major Randall had the advantage, unless he was bluffing. If he wasn't, then he was willing to kill himself and all of his men in a fight against the EEF, secure with the knowledge that he wasn't going to be going down alone. The man was a crazy bugger. Until the next wave of troops arrived in six months, he was going to have to tread very carefully. It was at that moment that Treleaven felt oh so very old and tired of the politics. He missed the straightforward tactics that he had once been able to apply himself to.

A knock on the door. He looked up once more. This time, there were many silhouettes, and he stood once more. "Come in." The door opened, and they filed in, a macabre line of killers all, hard men and women willing to do horrible things. Horrible things that _he_ would no doubt order them to do. Captain Burns. Lieutenants Sorenson, Herrmann, Storch, and Archambault. And the final entry, Sergeant Harrison.

Captain Burns came to attention, as did the rest of his officers. And so did Harrison. Interesting. Captain Burns saluted sharply, eyes fixed straight ahead. "Sir, reporting with the high priority package as ordered, sir!"

He returned the salute in the British fashion, palm out. "Very good, Captain. Casualties?"

"None, sir."

"Enemy resistance?"

"None worth mentioning, sir."

"And the Na'vi?"

"Not present at Hell's Gate, so far as we could tell. They likely had spotters in the jungle who saw or heard us, though our pilots headed out of enemy territory at an azimuth that wouldn't lead directly back to base, as per standard operating procedures."

"Very good, Captain. I apologize for the lack of seats at the moment. I'll be fine with Harrison, if you wish to return to your men. Which of your officers was the one to make pick up?"

Storch stepped forward, face sweat streaked and hair matted from wearing the armored exopack, a trait she shared with her fellow officers. "Sir, third platoon made retrieval, sir!" she reported crisply, still standing at attention.

"_Lef_-tenant Storch, if you could stay here for the debriefing with Harrison? Captain, I expect a fully detailed report no later than nineteen hundred hours." Captain Burns nodded, and he filed out with the rest of his officers, only Storch and Harrison remaining. Motioning for them to sit, he took his own seat before pulling up Harrison's file on his holoboard. "Sergeant Harrison. Age, forty-five. Height, six feet and three inches. Weight, unknown. Active on Pandora for a number of years. Successful squad leader, lead many patrols into the jungle. Et cetera, et cetera. All very impressive. I'm terribly sorry that we were unable to get you out any sooner."

Lieutenant Storch cleared her throat, shooting a guarded glance towards the man who sat next to her, his lean and muscled frame towering over her. "Sir, from what I could tell, he wasn't too angry at not getting out any sooner." She paused, fidgeting in her seat slightly. "There was a small girl in the chow hall. She called him daddy."

Treleaven leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers, shooting Harrison an amused look. "Indeed? Should I be offering my apologies for taking you out of Hell's Gate, then, Sergeant?"

"Ah...sir...I knew this day was coming. So did my...partner. My daughter has been told repeatedly that the day might come where some people come and pick me up without warning. I'm still fully prepared to serve the RDA...er, the EEF, and will fight to the best of my abilities, sir."

"Just as I expected, Sergeant." He sighed, looking at the man before him. Despite his words, there was a look of fatigue about him, and a deep sadness in his eyes. "However, I have one thousand six hundred other soldiers to do my fighting for me. What I don't have is an ambassador, someone who already knows Jake Sully, who knows the people on this planet, their customs, their habits."

There was a moment of shocked silence, Harrison and Storch both looking at him with wide eyes. "Sir?"

"I need talkers, right now. Harrison, your first mission is to return to Hell's Gate with two Samsons that are specially painted and very lightly armed. We can provide some of the pilots, but I need Trudy Chacon on board for this one. The personnel at Hell's Gate will serve as the liaisons between the EEF and the Na'vi. I want you to arrange a neutral meeting between Jake Sully and myself and as soon as possible. Our raid on Hell's Gate can't have gone unnoticed, and we need to open communications before things go downhill. I'd also like to have that communication remain open throughout the war, if there is one. All Na'vi need to know that the white Samsons with the Na'vi markings on them are neutral and therefore not to be fired upon. All human soldiers will know the same."

Harrison nodded, brows furrowed in thought. "I agree with the idea, sir, but do you think that the Na'vi will agree to send their leaders to meet you face to face after hostilities break out?"

"Son, I don't care if it's face to face or through messages. Point is, we can't get into a shooting war and close off all communications with the Na'vi, too much is at stake here. I'd rather that we not shoot a single shot in anger, but the chances of that happening..." he broke off, leaving the thought hanging in the air. "Storch, I know that this isn't your area of expertise, but I need you to assemble your seven best men as a security detail, yourself included. I'm travelling with my two aide-de-camps. Do you both understand your roles in this endeavor?" They both nodded, faces grim. "The RDA personnel are not to learn of this...I don't trust them, not yet. Their commanding officer is NOT stable whatsoever. He's actually rather off his rocker, but we can't get rid of him, not yet. Harrison, you'll take one of the Samsons back to Hell's Gate with a pilot I personally selected, and he'll act as Chacon's co-pilot. That said, what do you have to report on the situation?"

Harrison took a deep breath and began to relay his report. He didn't know what weapons the Na'vi had, or how many clans had used the Stereolithography Plant due to the fact that Sully had him restrained to quarters whenever he was doing something that he didn't want reported. He just knew that it had been used, and shortly after the humans had first been 'ousted' from Pandora. He suspected that only the Omaticaya had modern weapons, but he had overheard that other clans sent in warriors to be trained relatively regularly. There was also talk of the Na'vi increasing how many children they were having, and that there would be a new wave of warriors ready to fight within the next few years. Jake Sully was doing that the RDA never could do; he was slightly modernizing the Na'vi, at least in terms of a military force. The clans that had been surrounding the area and that had been nearly wiped out by the humans were coming back with a vengeance, and were spoiling for a war to get revenge. He listed off a few more facts and figures, and concluded by saying that all he knew was explained in detail in all of his reports.

Treleaven sat for a few moments, digesting the information. He could almost sense the different outcomes that would come from these few minutes. The death and anguish, the exultation of a battle fought and won, the bitterness of losing ground and soldiers to the enemy...all centered here, at this point of time. He needed to make a decision. "Sergeant Harrison, your mission still stands. Return to Hell's Gate as soon as you can. The Samson will be ready no later than..." he checked his watch, doing some quick calculations. "...seventeen hundred hours, so be ready for that." Once Harrison nodded, he focused his attention onto Storch. "Once the meeting is set, I'll have a runner and a lorry come for you and your soldiers. Your team should be in full kit for this, save for rucksacks. I don't fancy wandering straight into a possible ambush with our trousers about our ankles, is that clear?" At this, both of them nodded, and he stood. "Right. You both know your roles in this. Mum's the word, especially around the RDA chaps. Harrison, you are now officially part of the EEF, so don't worry about making contact with your old pals. Dismissed."

**AN (again): Okay, so, some things to clear up. General Treleaven is British. The Brits refer to lieutenants as '_lef_-tenants' for some odd reason that I don't really know. A truck is a lorry to them, and pants are trousers. A kit in Brit talk is military equipment, so a 'full kit' as General T. says would be like full ammo load, grenades, body armor, the polarized visor, assault packs with various deadly paraphernalia, etc etc. I'm trying hard to make him appear as British as possible, so if you could tell me how I'm doing in that, it'd be much appreciated.**


	4. Don't Kill the Messenger

**AN: Yay! Harrison is back! Wootness! Anyway, firstly I'd like to apologize for taking so long getting this out, but all the tests I had to take and final papers I had to write (and eff THAT ten page paper to hell where it belongs!) kinda took away all my motivation to write this. Sorry about that, guys, but hopefully this chapter will be good enough to make up for that. So, yeah, this chapter is in the POV of Harrison, but features Jake Sully, Ney'tiri, and Trudy. Exciting!**

**Read, enjoy, and PLEASE REVIEW!**

DON'T KILL THE MESSENGER...

It was a troubled heart that Harrison bore when he returned to Hell's Gate late in the evening. He and the pilot, an average looking Samson driver whose name he had quickly forgotten shortly after hearing it, hadn't talked at all during the entire flight, and the two door gunners were just as silent. The three of them were all EEF soldiers, and he didn't know quite how to react to them. The thought of a professional military here on Pandora was both shocking and disconcerting. He had expected a larger RDA force...after all, Pandora was the RDA's meal ticket, so to find out that they had given up control to a professional military force was throwing him off. Oh, he had always known that the humans were going to come back. He had known that for more than ten years now. It was the quality of the men and women that had arrived that got his attention. From what little he had managed to see, they were all professional. He was used to seeing the altered uniforms worn by the RDA, with sleeves cut off, and non-standard pants and jackets worn along with a variety of weapons. Military-esque, but still obviously a mercenary force. All the EEF soldiers that he had seen were in the same uniform and had the same basic weapon systems. Maybe that was because they were fresh off the bird, but he got the feeling that they would maintain that uniformity, especially the unit that he had interacted with. A Special Forces unit that was configured like a standard army unit of the same size. Unusual in that Special Forces units were generally small teams. He also noticed that their weapons were not the same as the RDA, but were instead larger. They weren't bullpups, with the magazine behind the trigger, that was for certain. And the magazines were larger, too. A bigger round? A round larger than the 6.2x35mm bullet that the RDA favored wouldn't be a bad idea on Pandora, truth be told. He'd have to keep his eyes and ears open.

"Landing in five, four, three, two..." the pilot stated over the radio, and Harrison watched as the ground approached rapidly, bathed in the landing lights that the pilot had switched on. They settled with a solid thud, and the four of them undid their harnesses as the turbines whined down to a halt. Harrison was looking up to one of the gunners to ask for him to hand him his assault pack when he noticed something rapidly approaching through the darkness. Reflexively reaching for a weapon that wasn't there, he began to shout a warning when the Na'vi warrior reached the Samson, arm snaking into the craft and snatching one of the gunners and tearing him out of his seat. A shout behind him, and he turned around to see the other EEF gunner disappear from view, struggling in the iron grip of the Na'vi who had grabbed him.

"Shit!" he shouted, jumping out into the darkness towards the sound of excited Na'vi voices. "_Oél ngáti kámeie_," he screamed as his boots pounded against the tarmac. "Don't kill them, stop! I'm James Harrison, they're here in peace, stop!"

A burst of Na'vi, imperious, and the noise died down, and he reached the group of twenty or so Na'vi warriors, all armed with bows and knives. The two gunners were on their knees, faces pale through their exopacks, hands on the backs of their heads. They appeared to be trying to be as small as possible, something that Harrison could truly sympathize with. The Na'vi were staring at him, some baring their teeth and hissing. He stopped a fair distance from the group, and held out his hands peacefully. "These men are for protection, not to attack. We are here to talk, not to fight!" he pleaded in English, and then repeated the message in Na'vi. The Na'vi murmured amongst themselves at that for a few moments before one of them stepped forward, and Harrison breathed a sigh of relief. Jake Sully. No surprise that he would personally come to the site of a human raid. "Sully, thank God. Look, those two men and the pilot still in the Samson aren't here to fight. We're here to talk."

Sully stared at him for a heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats before giving a curt order. The two humans were picked up and shoved towards him, and they wasted no time in beating feet to his position. After quickly scanning them for wounds and making sure that they stayed behind him, he turned back towards Jake. "Sully, listen, there are humans on Pandora, more than you can imagine, and they're nothing like the RDA. These guys are professional, and their base...I can't tell you where it is or how it's situated, but from what I could see, it'd be suicide to try and take it, even if you had all of the Na'vi and Eywa attack it." His words came fast, almost tumbling out of his mouth, and he could see that most of the Na'vi could understand him, shock and anger playing across their faces, but Sully's face remained unreadable. "The general there, he's different though, he wants to talk! Please, just meet with him, he made me his official ambassador for the humans, he just wants to talk! I think he wants to resolve the conflict before the fight even starts!"

Sully frowned thoughtfully, but before he could answer, a sharp female voice cut into the humid air. "No! We will not speak to Sky People! They had chance before, and turned their back on Eywa. We will fight them again, and force them from here again!" Ney'tiri. She sounded angry, voice tight with livid rage.

"Honorable Lady, you haven't seen what I have seen. They are out there, and they are waiting! They won't attack until they have the overwhelming advantage, they will simply sit and wait, and destroy every Na'vi who tries to attack them. They have weapons that you've never even seen, weapons that can kill you before you can even see their base, much less see the people firing the weapon that killed you. They have metal Ikrans larger and more deadly than even the Toruk. I beg of you, let them speak to you, maybe you can reach a compromise."

"Compromise? _Cha_! Sky People only deal in ultimatums, they do not compromise with the Na'vi. We will fight them, and defeat them," Ney'tiri snapped, voice scornful, and Harrison had to fight to not snap at her. How could she be so ignorant? How could she not _see_ what was so damn obvious?

"Ney'tiri, stop," Sully ordered, voice soft and holding no sharpness. "Don't forget that I used to be one of the Sky People and a _skxawng_, an empty-headed fool. They deserve the chance to speak, to show what they are thinking. Plus, Harrison knows what he is talking about...the Sky People _do_ have weapons that can kill us long before we can even see them." Ney'tiri turned to face him, bristling with indignant rage, but after a tense moment, she relaxed and stepped back. "Harrison, who exactly are they?"

"They call themselves the Earth Expeditionary Force, and judging by the amount of Valkyries coming in and how big the base is, it looks like there is going to be more than a thousand soldiers on the ground soon, if not already." As the words left his mouth, he could sense the two gunners behind him tense, and he shifted slightly. "I refuse to tell you where the base is, of course, but trust me, it would take all you have to take the base, maybe even more. That is, if you managed to hit them _now_. By the time that it would take you to muster your forces, actually find out where the base is, and then attack, it'll be too late. If there is a peaceful way to end the conflict before it starts, take it!"

There was a murmuring restlessness amongst the Na'vi even while Jake stood his ground, blue face passive, eyes staring into nothing as he thought. After a few minutes, he blinked, eyes clearing. Just seeing how quickly Jake began to look old and tired was enough to set a pang of remorse through Harrison...no doubt Jake already knew what was looming on the horizon. "Fine. The day after tomorrow, at Hell's Gate, fourteen hundred hours." Saying nothing else to Harrison or the two behind him, he barked out a couple of sharp commands, and the Na'vi melted into the darkness.

Letting out a great sigh of relief, Harrison turned around and appraised the EEF soldiers behind him. They were shooting him tight glares, which was good...at least they hadn't passed out. "Yeah, those are the Na'vi. Big buggers, aren't they? You'll likely get the chance to fight them soon enough. Get your gear, and we'll get you settled."

The two of them made no move, and Harrison stared at them for a few moments, eyes flicking over to the pilot as he grabbed his gear and made his way over to them. "How can we trust you?" one of the two gunners asked, voice suspicious. "You told them how many of us there are...how do we know that you are actually working for the EEF?"

Harrison paused for less than a second before he squared his shoulders and thrust out his chest, body totally facing the gunner who had talked. When he had been pleading with Jake, he was a desperate diplomat. Now? Now he was all sergeant, the professional noncommissioned officer, the backbone of any real military. "Soldier, do you understand your mission here?" he snapped, hands on his hips.

"Yeah, we're here to kill the space smurfs," the soldier answered, voice dismissive.

"Is that how you talk to a sergeant?" Now he wasn't snapping, he was fairly growling, one hand coming up to point at the soldier, all fingers extended and rigid. "You'd better get to parade rest while talking to me, or your time on planet is going to be real unpleasant, _Private_!" The soldier didn't move, staring at him with wide eyes. "MOVE!" The roared command finally prompted the disrespectful soldier into action, and he popped into parade rest. "Your mission here is to secure humanity's interests on Pandora, whether through warfare with the Na'vi or not! Private Jackson, maybe you don't get it, but if there is a war humans will die, and not in small numbers. We'll win, but at a cost that might not be worth it. So you tell me, soldier, should I inform Jake of the numbers so that he'll see that fighting is useless, or do I let him wander blindly into a war that he can't win?" Private Jackson didn't answer, eyes locked straight ahead, his mouth a tight line. "That was a question, Jackson, you can answer it."

"Sergeant, we came here to fight, not to talk, _Sergeant_!"

"No, you came here to fight if you couldn't talk, and don't you forget it. I've been on this goddamn moon for more years than I can count, stuck here because I couldn't make it back to Hell's Gate on time. Can you imagine, Private? Imagine being stuck on a hostile moon for _eleven years_ while you waited for a friendly face to come from Earth. Imagine not being able to go home, back to planet that you have fought and bled and _killed_ for! How dare you question if I'm loyal to the EEF! Hell, I'm glad that the EEF is a professional military, not a bunch of mercs like the RDA! The next time you accuse me of not being loyal to Earth or the EEF, I will unscrew your head and shit down your _neck_! Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sergeant!"

"Good. Now pick up your gear and follow me." He turned, shouldering his duffel bag, not bothering to look back at the three behind him. He didn't need to...he could hear the three of them following. He reached one of the airlocks, and entered it, the three others shuffling in behind him, Jackson not looking him in the eye. They waited for the atmosphere to become livable, and once it did, he gratefully peeled off his exopack before opening the door into the base...and stared down the barrels of an assortment of small arms. "Huh." He blinked at the suddenness of it before shrugging. "If this is how you treat a diplomat and ally, I'd hate to see how you treat an enemy," he quipped, and some of the guns were lowered.

"Harrison?" a dusky voice called out, and he relaxed slightly. Ah, good, it was Trudy. "We didn't think we'd ever see you again..."

"Yeah, surprises all around. We need to talk and get these three situated," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Introducing Warrant Officer Two Lochman, Corporal Liang, and Private Jackson, members of the Earth Expeditionary Force."

"Earth Expeditionary Force?" one of the RDA SecOps turned Na'vi supporter asked, submachine gun lowering completely. "What the hell is that?"

"Well, don't I have a story for you!" Two hours later, after he had explained the current situation to the leaders of Hell's Gate (and, Lord, hadn't THAT been a fun process!) he was standing in Hannah's room, watching her as she slept peacefully. Gently resting his hand on her head and ruffling her hair softly enough to not wake her up, he let a smile cross his features, a sense of peace and happiness blossoming in his heart. He hadn't known how long it would take for him to come back to Hell's Gate and his little family when he had been picked up just that morning. To be back after less than twenty-four hours...it was a blessing.

"Harrison." Trudy, at the door, voice low to keep from disturbing their daughter...their daughter who would invariably be tormented by the coming conflict...he squeezed his eyes shut, saying a quick prayer.

"Yeah," he murmured, brushing the pads of his fingers against the smooth skin of Hannah's cheek before leaving the small room, stepping lightly. Entering the corridor, he shut Hannah's door behind him before turning to face Trudy.

"So, they want me to be a pilot again," she whispered softly, as though the door were still open and Hannah could still hear them. "Humans want me to fly in a war against the Na'vi." Her arms came up, crossing against her chest, but not as a show of defiance...she was holding herself. "I don't know what I think about that..." He didn't say anything, not at first. Instead, he turned and headed up the corridor, to the room neighboring Hannah's...Trudy's room. Quickly typing the passcode that he had long ago memorized with Trudy's blessing, he turned to face her as one hand opened the door, and she nodded before following him into the dimly lit room. "I fought hard and almost died for the Na'vi...now I'm being asked to possibly fight against them, be a part of a conflict that will span stars? I just...I don't know." She was still holding herself.

He took in a deep breath before holding his arms open. She glanced at him, biting her lip nervously before she finally stepped forward, and he wrapped her in a gentle embrace. "We aren't going to fight, Trudy...we are going to prevent fighting, prevent death and mayhem...surely you can see the goodness in that."

"Yeah," she murmured into his chest as he began to rub her back. They stood there like that for a moment and an eternity both, the two of them basking in the companionship that had been the basis of their relationship for eleven years. "I was...I was scared, you know. When they took you away. I was holding onto Hannah, keeping her from chasing after you, and I couldn't help but wonder if the next time I saw you you'd be an enemy, another soldier behind another gun, ready to kill. That's if you ever even came back...James, I don't want to be following another Quaritch."

"The new commander isn't like that, you'll see soon enough. I think we can trust in him." She didn't reply, but to be fair, he didn't give her the chance to. Tilting her face up, he caught her lips with a gentle kiss, which she returned with the same softness. The next kiss wasn't as gentle, but was more hungry, more needy. After all, they both needed something that the other could offer. The rest of the night wasn't spent in conversation, but in desperate passion followed by an uneasy sleep, both Trudy and Harrison having ominous dreams of the clouds of war that were quickly gathering on the horizon.


	5. The Pandora Peace Talks

**AN: This stands as the chapter with the second longest word count, with 4,017 words. Nice, huh? I'm actually somewhat surprised at myself for updating this. My last chapter only got two reviews, which kinda makes me sad. Granted, it was a filler chapter, so maybe that had something to do with it. I thought that having a chapter starring Harrison would draw in more reviews, but what the hey, I'm not always right, unfortunately. Anyway, this chapter features Trudy. She meets Lieutenant Storch for the first time, which is exciting. More importantly, however, this is the chapter wherein Jake meets General Treleaven. Holy crapsticks! I really hope that you guys review and tell me what you think about the meeting, as I've been planning that since I first started writing this story. It is here that the basis for the rest of the story is established, and is therefore very important. I'm also doing something a little bit different. My next chapter is already written, so I will update that on the tenth of June. Hopefully that will give me the time to write the next chapter, and therefore keep a chapter ahead, allowing me to stay on schedule. This ALSO means that I will be able to post a preview at the end of this chapter. If you like this arrangement, tell me so. If you don't, inform me so that I can stop it.**

**In all, please, enjoy, read, and review!**

THE PANDORA PEACE TALKS

It was with a muted sense of restlessness that Hell's Gate greeted the day of the meeting between General Treleaven and Jake Sully. Everyone tried to go about their normal routines, but nothing could change the fact that everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the meeting to start. It was not surprising when the Na'vi were the first to show up, several hours prior to the meeting start time. Trudy watched the Na'vi warriors take position on the outer walls, as well as in several strategic areas throughout the base. All of them were armed with machine guns and grenades. A quick headcount told her that there were around thirty Na'vi total scattered around the base, but it was difficult to get a completely accurate count of the tall blue warriors. She tried to not let the stress of the upcoming meeting show while she was having breakfast with Hannah and James, but she could tell her daughter was distressed by both her and James's tense silence. She wished that she could have spent the entire day with her daughter, but she had things to do, such as meet her new crew. There were still mechanics enough at Hell's Gate, but she didn't really have a crew for a Samson. Now she did, and she was going to be part of a military unit again. She hoped that Harrison was right, that the EEF was not like RDA.

Warrant Officer Lochman was decidedly Scottish, with a burr to his voice and with russet hair, as well as a body of considerable bulk. She decided that she'd like him after he had first greeted her, a wide grin on his lips and a firm handshake for her. He had a booming laugh, and he had said that he looked forward to working with the 'infamous Trudy Chacon.' Corporal Liang was definitely Chinese, and his dossier said that he grew up in Beijing. He was quiet, and didn't have much to say to her besides his name, and that it was an honor to work with her. He was wiry, though she didn't doubt that he could beat her in a hand-to-hand fight. She didn't let it show, but he unsettled her a little. His demeanor reminded her of Matsushita. She doubted he'd ever go crazy and try to kill her, but the short Chinese man did remind her of her greatest nemesis. Her last door gunner...well, he'd have to be a work in progress. Private Jackson was the only other American, but where Lochman was loud and exuberant and Liang was quiet and respectful, Jackson exuded a sense of discontent and surliness. He had mumbled his name when she asked him for it, and didn't shake her hand when she had offered it. She would have reprimanded the man there, but Harrison beat her to it. He had flashed her a tight-lipped smile before tearing into the man, reminding her of countless sergeants that she had encountered throughout her years in the military or in military-like organizations.

Content with letting Harrison take care of the disrespectful Private, she waited until he was done before she went on to the next important order of business: seeing how her new Samson ran, as well as how her crew worked. They all boarded the gleaming white Samson, and she found it to be in pristine condition. The mechanics at the EEF base knew their stuff. Warrant Officer Lochman was an excellent copilot, not arguing with her throughout the entire process, and reacting to her requests instantly, almost before she finished saying what she wanted. Jackson and Liang both worked well, which relieved her. Jackson left his surliness on the ground, and worked professionally while in the air, calling out potential threats while they were flying, showing that he was attentive. It was nice to see that none of his attitude manifested itself while they were doing their job. His tone was crisp and professional, and there was no hesitation to be found when she ordered him to do something. He was an ass, but he did everything that he was supposed to when he was supposed to. She could forgive him for having character flaws, so long as he kept up the good work.

She kept the flight short, only staying in the air for thirty minutes, long enough to get a feel for her new bird, including her diving and climbing capabilities. She was a good Samson, lighter than her old one, largely due to not being as heavily armored as the troop carrier version of the Samson and not having any hardpoints for mounted weapons. She was obviously a bird of peace, not war. Trudy couldn't quite make up her mind if that was reassuring or not. It was nice to see that she wasn't expected to fight except in self-defense, but there was a reason why the Samsons were as heavily armed and armored as they were. The extra speed and maneuverability were bonuses, but she kinda missed the slightly sluggish responses of a fully loaded Samson. She'd just have to get used to her new bird, that was all. The landing went smoothly, save for Jackson expressing a concern in how the Na'vi were situating themselves in a loud voice. Harrison told him to shut up, and he did. To be fair, she could see why he was concerned. If Jake wanted to, he could effectively decapitate the EEF leadership today, but she got the feeling that Treleaven would have figured that possibility into his plans. One didn't become the commanding officer of an interstellar army by being a dolt...she hoped. After the engines cooled a bit, she helped the mechanics still at Hell's Gate service the bird, enjoying the almost zen activity. Yeah, she could let the grease monkeys handle it, but it was good to get to know everything about the craft you flew. Knowing basic maintenance could be a great boon in the future. It was halfway through the maintenance that she happened to look up while wiping the sweat off the back of her neck with a spare towel. Her sharp eyes spotted it by chance, a small glint of light off of a craft circling Hell's Gate from high altitude, and she felt a chill run down her spine. This General Treleaven _was_ good, he was already watching them, and probably knew more about the Na'vi and where they were than she did. And who knew if the craft, most likely a UAV being piloted from the EEF's base, was armed or not. She glanced about the bright sky, but couldn't see any others, but that didn't mean that they were there. Shrugging her shoulders uneasily and letting out a tense breath, she went back to work, knowing that even if she told someone about the UAV, it wouldn't change a thing.

After the maintenance, time flew by. She had to shower, get changed into something other than her comfortable flight suit, make sure her hair didn't look like a bird's nest, service her pistol belt to make sure that it didn't look worn out, and make sure that she presented a military and professional atmosphere. Flashing a bright-toothed smile into the mirror, she turned, and headed out of her room. She was Trudy Chacon, pilot extraordinaire, she didn't have a _thing_ to be worried about! All she had to do was stand there and look pretty, all while gathering vital intelligence to share with Jake or some of the egg-heads later. She could do this! It was not until she reached the designated meeting are where Jake, Ney'tiri, and several other Na'vi tribe leaders were waiting in full regalia along with Norm, Max, and some of the other humans from Hell's Gate that the butterflies in her stomach started to go crazy. Harrison was already there as well, and in dress uniform to boot, and she had a moment to wonder where the hell he got a dress uniform and _damn_ did he look good in it before the sound of incoming aircraft caught her attention. "Alright, it's go time," she muttered to herself as a Samson, painted identically to the one she had been flying in earlier, came into sight, escorted by two Scorpions whose weapon mounts were empty, no doubt as a sign of good will. Didn't change the fact that the little attack aircrafts' chin-mounted guns were no doubt loaded to the brim, and those alone could devastate the Na'vi leadership.

But the guns didn't open up like buzz saws that spewed death, and the Scorpions went into an overwatch pattern over Hell's Gate as the Samson came in for its landing. The second its struts touched down, the doors were thrown open, and seven commandos in black gear and clothing almost exploded out of the craft, and though guns were never brought out of the low ready, you could tell be the way that these soldiers swiveled their heads around that they were taking in everything. Six of the seven soldiers had matte black visors to their exopacks, Trudy noticed with a slight curl of dread settling in her stomach. It was...creepy to see these soldiers move without being able to see a face, not knowing if they were watching you or not. They were fully armed, as well, and had armor that wasn't anything like she had ever seen. Their weapons were also nothing like what the RDA had, and this unfamiliarity unsettled her more than she would like to admit. Without an order, the six with darkened exopack lenses circled around the meeting area, enclosing the Na'vi leaders in a loose loop, the commandos arranged so that they had three hundred sixty degrees of security around the site. They also completely ignored the shocked outbursts from the Na'vi leaders, and not a one of them turned inwards. Those that could find cover did so, but otherwise they took a knee, two hands on a rifle at all times. The one commando that didn't have a darkened visor strolled unconcerned up to the meeting table, rifle pointing almost straight down, hands holding it relaxed.

This soldier was short...almost too short. Five foot six, maybe? The form was also rather slender to be male...no, this wasn't a male, but a woman. Trudy blinked in surprise when she found herself making eye contact with a young woman with hard hazel eyes and an elfin face. There was a strength and conviction about the young woman's features that exuded a sense of haughty confidence, but she was definitely not ugly. Far from it, really. Not a classic beauty, but the pixy features mixed well with the confident feel that this young...Trudy checked the soldier's chest for rank and name...Lieutenant Storch offered. If Trudy had to guess just by Storch's young sun-kissed face, she'd say that she was a decade or so younger than she was, and she remembered her days in high school when she had experimented with her sexuality. Storch would have been worth trying to catch the attention of, had Trudy known her back then. But those were bygone years, and she was happy with the life she had now, what semblance of normalcy she had with Harrison and Hannah. No need remembering events that happened twenty years ago. Not only that, but those sharp hazel eyes had appraised her coldly, like a predator...was Trudy a threat to this death soldier, this commando? No. She was dismissed, but not ignored. She shivered, even in the hot Pandoran sun.

Lieutenant Storch said something in Na'vi, rapidly, fluently, tongue not stumbling over words, as Trudy still sometimes did. This Storch spoke well enough and fast enough that Trudy had difficulty keeping up with her words...Storch apologized for her men, but she needed...security...strength?...for her great chief, General Treleaven...they came in peace, and would...offer no fight unless the fight came to them. Shock at how well this sky person spoke their language quieted the Na'vi leaders down, and Jake responded in English, asking where Treleaven was. Storch answered still in Na'vi: "Do not worry, Toruk Makto, General Treleaven is coming, and hopefully you will find his words agreeable not only to you, but for all of Eywa as well."

There was a murmur amongst the Na'vi leadership at that, though several of them scowled, and Ney'tiri even bared her fangs and hissed. To her credit, Storch didn't flinch, or even noticeably react. Movement at the Samson caught Trudy's attention, and she looked up to see three more people disembark the craft, two men and another young woman. None of these three were armored, though the oldest man had a pistol on his hip. Otherwise they had no weapons amongst them. Given that they were in dress uniforms, she guessed that they were the general and his aides. The general was...grandfatherly. There was no other word for it. Even through the exopack, Trudy could see that his cheeks were rosy, and that he had a pretty big nose and bushy eyebrows. He had a belly on him, and while he talked to his two aides, he had a ready smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. He was the perfect grandfather...an opinion that was further justified when he drew close enough to be heard. He sounded British, and his voice also held good cheer. "Did you see those Banshees? Bloody marvelous, I say, marvelous indeed. Beautiful creatures, isn't that so, Captain?"

"Da, General Treleaven," the other man responded, and Trudy noted that he looked like a bird of prey, with sharp, angular features and hard, glittering eyes. The young woman was rather nondescript, somewhat mousy in appearance, with glasses on under her exopack and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. Her brown eyes were warm and open and innocent, and Trudy felt a moment of pity for the girl. Storch was prepared for the war that was likely on the horizon, this Lieutenant Rockwell wasn't. Trudy would be surprised if she was ready for this _moon_.

The trio reached the meeting area, and General Treleaven launched right into the negotiations. "Right, let's get on with this, ladies and gentlemen," he said with a courteous smile before popping his heels together and offering a British salute, palm outwards. Trudy had to hide a grin when Jake returned the salute with all the accuracy he had been taught in the USMC, though a slightly confused look on his face. He dropped it, and Treleaven dropped his salute. "First time that a general has saluted you, eh, Corporal?" Treleaven said with a grin before he offered his hand, arm stretching up towards Jake. "In all serious, General Treleaven, commanding officer, Earth Expeditionary Forces." All throughout his energetic introduction, Storch had been translating, a task she would continue for the duration of the meeting. Before any of the Na'vi could react, Jake reached forward and gently shook Treleaven's hand.

"Jake Sully, former Marine, former Toruk Makto, and current leader of the Omaticaya tribe. This is Ney'tiri, my wife and head priestess of the Omaticaya." At Ney'tiri's introduction, Treleaven faced her and offered her a short bow, which went unrecognized from the haughty Na'vi warrioress. Jake went on to introduce the remaining five Na'vi, and Treleaven repeated his bow to each one, and some of them returned it. "Now, General, shall we get down to business?"

"Right, down to brass tacks. Mister Sully, the EEF is here as a vanguard of humanity, willing to offer our hand in friendship and to correct the mistakes that were suffered by the Na'vi at the hands of the RDA. We come as messengers, spreading the word that the Sky People can be a staunch ally or a deadly enemy. Earth wants war as little as the Na'vi people do, and we would like to have a peace between our two peoples that would extend for centuries to come, so that it may be sung of the day that we met as honorable friends, brothers and sisters from two different worlds coming together for the betterment of all."

Jake listened to Treleaven's words before grimacing slightly. "Had you been the first of the Sky People to come, the Na'vi would have welcomed you with open arms. But Eywa and the Na'vi suffered for forty years after the RDA came here with their guns and their machines and their flames of greed. They cut into the earth, burned down the forests, and killed wantonly. The Na'vi tried to be peaceful, but the Sky People did not listen, and destroyed the Home Tree of the Omaticaya, _killed_ innocent men, women, and children. I was there, Ney'tiri was there, Trudy and Harrison were both there, they saw the devastation! How can we know that you speak the truth, that you truly mean what you say?"

Treleaven spread his arms, gesturing to the Na'vi present. "I am truly sorry for the misery the Sky People have brought to Pandora from Earth, but we were desperate. Our planet is dying, and we need the gifts of Eywa to save our people. This does not excuse our actions, but if you do not heed our words, many billions of innocent men, women, and children will die. You will have caused the death of these people, caused an entire planet to go dark with the stillness of death. Please, let us compromise, surely we can reach an accord?"

Ney'tiri spoke up, voice sharp. "And what is it that the Sky People have to offer us? What do you have that can make up for what pain you have brought us?"

"Simple, wise lady. Weapons. Here is my proposal. In order to gain mining rights on your moon, we will trade fifty percent of the raw materials in everything but Unobtanium with your people, and we will rebuild your stereolithographic plant so that you can build weapons to match the Sky People's, so that if we ever go against our word, you can have a fair chance against us. What's more, we will not mine anywhere unless we have been cleared to do so by the Na'vi. We will construct our machines on site instead of bringing them through the jungle, and will transport the mined materials out of these sites on smaller roads while under Na'vi and human protection. After we have mined a site to completion, we will fill in what holes we have dug, and reforest the area so that life can go on after we have taken what we need for survival. The only stipulation to this is that our first mining site be that of the Home Tree."

One of the Na'vi leaders who had remained silent to that point spoke up, and Storch quickly translated. "You would do this for the Na'vi?"

"You have my word as an officer and as a child of Earth. Let us end this conflict before the conflict begins and spirals out of our control."

Jake nodded. "If we could have some time to convene amongst ourselves, that would be much appreciated, sir."

"Take all the time you need, Mister Sully. We've nowhere to be except right here." The Na'vi all stepped away, but remained within the circle that had been formed by the human soldiers, and Trudy took a sip from her exopack's water reservoir. General Treleaven was...nothing like what she expected. He wasn't just putting on airs, she could tell. He truly wanted peace between Earth and Pandora.

"Interesting man, isn't he?" Female voice, kinda dusky, maybe from shouting orders. Swallowing one last mouthful of water, Trudy turned to face her talker, unsurprised to see Storch standing in front of her, hugging her rifle.

"Yeah. Kinda gives me hope, but the Na'vi are a hard sell." She flashed a smile, and offered a hand. "Trudy Chacon, pilot."

While not necessarily returning her smile, Storch offered a curt nod and returned her handshake. "Ellen Storch, platoon leader, EEF Special Forces. The Na'vi had better learn to sell easy, or they're going to be destroyed. The EEF isn't a paltry band of mercenaries, we're the best the world has to offer, and we have weapons designed for this moon."

Trudy nodded towards the rifle. "Like that thing?"

"Yeah. Eight by fifty millimeter cartridge, comparable to the old Soviet seven-point-six-two by fifty-four millimeter cartridge or the NATO seven-point-six-two by fifty-one millimeter cartridge. This round is big enough to seriously hurt a Na'vi with a single shot."

"Is that so?" Trust a grunt to talk about a bullet. Even if it was a smart and pretty grunt doing the talking.

"Yes. That is so. It was a...pleasure to meet you, ma'am. We might be flying missions with each other, depending on how things turn out." And just like that, the cold wall was back up, and Ellen Storch dismissed her like she was lower enlisted. Now, what the hell! Trudy was about to give the young Lieutenant a piece of her mind when the Na'vi filed back, faces grim.

"We regret to inform you that we will be unable to have this peace between our peoples, General Treleaven. We can not trust the Sky People to stick to their word, and we beg that you leave Pandora before the war starts, so that the blood spilt will be kept to a minimum," Jake intoned imperiously, before letting out a great, sad sigh. "I am truly sorry, General."

General Treleaven nodded, all joviality gone, eyes as hard as flint, mouth a tight line. "Are you sure that you want war between the Na'vi and the Sky People? Are you absolutely certain that you want this fight? I am willing to maintain my part of the bargain, even now."

"I wish that I could have a peace between us, sir, but it just isn't possible, you understand why."

General Treleaven nodded before switching over to Spanish. "_Your people want this fight, and there is nothing you can do to prevent it. If you supported me and my plan, you would appear weak before all the tribes, and there wouldn't be a unified Na'vi front. Now, you must lead your people into bitter defeat until enough blood has been spilled that they are willing to listen to reason. Senor Sully...my offer will always stand, I do not plan on taking advantage of the Na'vi any more than I have to_."

Jake could only stare at him for a moment. "_How did...how did you know that I spoke Spanish_?"

"Your dossier, old boy. Before you leave, keep this in mind: Hell's Gate will remain a neutral location where one and all can receive medical aid and where meetings like this can be had. Also, I can neither confirm nor deny the presence of nuclear weapons on Pandora. Please, don't drive me to the point where I have to prove whether or not I do have them."

At those words, Storch touched her throat mike. "Operation Thunder Strike is a go, I say again, operation Thunder Strike is a go! All personnel, fall back on me." The six pulling security jumped up and sprinted back to the meeting place, rifles up and pointing towards the areas where the Na'vi warriors were hidden.

"I will not authorize a strike against you or any other Na'vi leadership in the first twenty-four hours, but after that, you are high value targets, unless at Hell's Gate or during negotiations. God speed, Mister Sully, God speed." By the time he was finished talking, General Treleaven and his aides were surrounded by commandos, making an attack upon him nigh impossible without starting an open firefight. In less than one minute, all the EEF personnel were aboard their Samson, and they were off, guns bristling out of the Samson's bay in the off chance that they took any fire. The moment they were out of sight, Trudy turned towards Jake, who suddenly looked decades older.

"Oh, God, what have I done?" he cried, face a picture of anguish. "Oh, Eywa, _what have I done_?"

**Preview of Chapter Six: Operation Thunder Strike**

"Hold her steady..." Captain Darlington muttered, voice tense. "Weapons free!" With a slight jerk, the first two thousand pound bomb was away, and it was at that moment that they hit a strong thermal, jolting their multirole fighter jet still further. And then several streams of lights were flying towards them from the jungle, and he jerked the joystick out of reflex just as the second bomb was being released.

"Shit, that's anti-aircraft artillery!" Instantly, he opened the throttle to max and climbed, getting them out of the danger zone even as Darlington cursed up a storm.


	6. Operation Thunder Strike

**AN: Okay, so I lied, and I'm going to publish this earlier than I expected. Not that I think that it's going to draw any complaints from you guys. Why am I publishing this chapter earlier? It's because I already have the next chapter completely written and I'm beginning to work on the next next chapter. Now, if I'm able to write that chapter fast enough, and keep far enough ahead on the chapters, I'll be able to publish again in a single week, on Monday June 13th. If not, I'll be able to publish on the 17th, that Friday. Not only am I far enough ahead in my writing, but if I can get this to you earlier, why not do so, instead of having you wait an additional time period when I can get this out to you now.**

**Couple of notes. Nearly all the military hardware mentioned is stuff that exists today, in the real world. Not only am I kinda lazy and don't want to have to make up my own names, but this provides ease of access for you, the readers. If you so desire, you can look up these weapons online, and you'll be able to see exactly what the EEF is packing. That said, I would HIGHLY recommend looking up 2,000 pound bombs on youtube, just to see what the EEF are using in this chapter. If I could recommend any videos in particular, search for '2000 lb standard bomb' and that video should be 0:13 long. The other video I highly recommend can be found by searching for 'B-1 Drops 2000 Pound Bomb' and that video is 0:26 long. As a disclaimer, I do not own nor did I record either of those videos, and the second one was taken in a warzone, and has small arms fire as well as swearing. You do not have to watch either of those videos, but I find them helpful in showing precisely what the EEF is bringing to the fight. The second note: yes, this chapter is shorter. 1,981 words, to be exact. However, there is a reason for that, which you will see upon reading the actual chapter. The next chapter has over 4,000 words, so rest assured, the word count of this chapter is the exception rather than the rule.**

**Anyway, please, read, enjoy, and review!**

OPERATION THUNDER STRIKE

"Operation Thunder Strike is a go, I say again, operation Thunder Strike is a go!" The second those words were heard on the air, several things happened all at once. At the EEF base, two of the supersonic fighters began to taxi towards the runway. Their engines had been running since General Treleaven had reached Hell's Gate and radioed back to base for them to prepare for the opening attack that would signify the start of the war. The fighters were similar in appearance to the F/A-18Fs that existed in the 21st Century, but had hardened electronics systems to allow them to fly in the harsh Pandoran environment. They were supposedly capable of resisting the EMP burst effect of a nuclear weapon, but the pilots had been told that flying either over or through the Hallelujah Mountains would still have an adverse effect on their electronics. As such, each jet was capable of flying either through digital or through manual control. Each jet had eleven hardpoints and a 20mm Vulcan gatling gun. The current mission had both fighters loaded out with the same weapons: one external fuel tank, four AIM-120 AMRAAM air-to-air missiles that used radar to find targets (tested and proven to be able to lock on to and hit Banshees and the Great Leonopterix), two Mark 77 incendiary bombs, two CBU-87 cluster bombs, and finally two Mark 84 2,000 pound unguided bombs. If all went according to plan, only the Mark 84s would be used, but all other weapons could be used in self-defense or against targets of opportunity.

Both jets had been waiting for the go ahead, engines idling, pilots and radar intercept officers in their seats. While they waited they read magazines or data-pads or listened to music. All they needed was the word to begin their deadly mission. And now they had it. Engines at full thrust, they screamed into the dense Pandoran atmosphere before climbing almost straight up. It took just over a minute to reach their target altitude of fifty thousand feet, but once they did reach altitude, both jets banked as one and headed on the same azimuth. The pilots set their velocity at just over the speed of sound at seven hundred and eighty miles-per-hour. Quick glances at synchronized watches gave all concerned the same information: they would be at their target in less than forty-five minutes. For Major Shaun Sigona, this would be his first combat mission. "Tower, this is Viper Wun, we are set to be over target airspace no later than wun-six-wun-zero hours, how copy, over," he reported even as he was scanning the surrounding air for possible bogeys.

"This is tower, solid copy. God speed, gentlemen and ladies."

"Roger, tower. Viper Wun, out." And just like that, it became a waiting game. During training missions, Sigona would often strike up light conversation with his RIO, Captain Josh Darlington. Now, the cockpit was silent. The gravity of their mission weighed upon both men, and so the next forty minutes were passed by checking, rechecking, and checking again the control panel, making sure that the speed and heading were both correct, and by feeling and hearing the steady thrum of the two engines as they tore through the Pandoran sky. Their jet, the Jolly Roger, had flown during the Hell's Gate Raid, and Sigona had already discovered that the thick Pandoran air not only allowed the jet's wings to create lift at lower speeds, but the denser air provided more thrust. In short, he could fly both slower and faster as well as maneuver more tightly here than he could on Earth, at the cost of the engines needing more maintenance more often. A price that he was willing to pay. The radar and the HUD started to flicker. "Control, we are passing over the Hallelujah Mountains, and are experiencing the flux cortex. No problems thus far, how copy, over."

A burst of static. "Thi...control...breaki...up...hard to...over." The transmission was garbled, and he cursed softly. Now they were alone in the sky, with only Captain Emerson and her RIO officer and jet up there with them. If they were shot down or suffered a failure, they wouldn't be found before they...

He shook his head, driving the thoughts of failure from his mind. "Control, we didn't get a solid copy from you, proceeding with mission as planned." Only a few minutes later, he watched as he reached a coordinate that had been drilled into his head during the triple briefing. At least three times during each of the three briefings he had seen the numbers, and he knew exactly what to do. "Arming Mark Aight-fowers, and beginning attack dive, over." By now his instruments were glitching pretty heavily, and he was automatically switched over to manual control as he brought the craft into a steep dive, knowing that Emerson was doing the same barely twenty meters behind his craft, dangerously close if they hadn't drilled together a hundred times and more while in training. "Target sighted." A tree, large and glistening pink and white and light blue in the dark green jungle, stone arches curving over it like ribs covering a heart...and this tree _was_ the heart of the Na'vi religion. The Jolly Roger's targeting computers were fritzing out, but the EEF was nothing if not resourceful. On Darlington's HUD there was a black dot drawn in with a dry erase marker. When travelling the exact speed that they were travelling at the same angle of dive that they were diving at, the Mark 84s would strike within twenty feet of the center of that black dot. Sigona had an identical dot on his HUD, and he lined it up with the base of the tree, eyes picking out a few banshees taking off, and he fought the urge to evade. Instead, he made certain that none of the stone arches touched the black dot by briefly pulling up and then nosing down a bit to get to the correct heading.

"Hold her steady..." Captain Darlington muttered, voice tense. "Weapons free!" With a slight jerk, the first two thousand pound bomb was away, and it was at that moment that they hit a strong thermal, jolting their multirole fighter jet still further. And then several streams of lights were flying towards them from the jungle, and he jerked the joystick out of reflex just as the second bomb was being released.

"Shit, that's anti-aircraft artillery!" Instantly, he opened the throttle to max and climbed, getting them out of the danger zone even as Darlington cursed up a storm.

"That second one is going right for a stone arch, it's a miss."

"That's why we have four bombs, Captain, it's good. Just one would have been enough."

As if on cue, their radio crackled to life. "Weapons free and good, they have twenty seconds to move that tree before its history," Emerson reported, voice tight with adrenaline, but devoid of glee. There was no joy in this. "I saw four separate triple-A batteries, let's go back and wipe them out before hitting the tree with our mark seven-sevens, is that a go, sir?"

"Roger." Once he was certain that he wasn't going to fly straight into a mountain, he glanced at one of his rearview mirrors in time to see the four massive explosions. "Darlington, take pictures of the damage on the next pass if you can. Same goes to you two, Emerson." He swung around one of the floating mountains, noticing that Emerson split off from his six o'clock and was heading in for a different attack azimuth. Now it was time for some guess work. The black dots were to be used with the Mark 84s and 77s only; the cluster bombs were something different. Darlington activated the weapons, and Sigona tried to line up the first AAA site with what little targeting he could get on his HUD through the flux. He wet his lips as the anti-aircraft battery started to fire at him, bright yellow tracers raising up out of the jungle to meet his jet.

"That's good, hold it." Another jolt. "Weapons free."

"Evading!" He stomped hard left on the rudder control pedals, and the Jolly Roger veered to the left just as the tracers started to get too close. A loud bang and a shudder throughout the airframe told him just how close it really was. An alarm started to squak at him, but a quick glance told him that it was nothing too dire. They were still mission capable. He couldn't hear it, but he could see the cluster bomb drop its deadly bomblets directly over the AAA battery site, and they exploded like a carpet of extremely deadly firecrackers. Then he was peeling away and coming in for another run against one of the three remaining sites.

As he looped around another of the floating mountains and began another attack run, he saw another site disappear under the blanket of bomblets, but the two remaining AAA sites both honed in on him. "The one at two o'clock," he ground out, teeth clenched as he decided to join in the fun, too. His finger found his joystick's trigger, and he squeezed it. Instantly, his 20mm cannon let out a burst of death, the high explosive shells flying out into the jungle, and he cursed softly as they landed to the left of the AAA battery that they were screaming towards. However, the crew of the gun evidently wasn't used to taking any sort of fire, and they paused in their gunning just long enough for the Jolly Roger to deliver its last CBU-87 before he peeled away once more.

"Sir, I got the pictures...man, that tree is kindling. I didn't really think about what three mark eighty-fours would do to a tree, but..." Darlington drew off before giving a soft whistle.

"Yeah, no kidding."

"Last site neutralized, but the natives are recovering from the shock of watching that tree explode, they're starting to shoot from the jungle."

"Roger, only two more passes, and then we go home." It was almost a reflex now, swing around the mountain, gaining enough altitude to dive in at the correct angle, this time on the side of the stone arches that offered the least protection, and sure enough, there were three gaping craters and shattered wood where once before stood the Tree of Souls. Two more jolts of the Jolly Roger, this time no nasty surprises from the jungle, no surprise thermal, and the Mark 77s struck true, blossoming fire directly on the ruined tree, spreading kerosene, white phosphorous, and an oxidizing agent over the shattered wood, all of which combusted violently. He couldn't imagine what it must be like down on the ground, watching this happen. They were angry, that was easy to see. Bullets floated up towards them from various points in the jungle, and a few even made contact, but the smaller rounds didn't penetrate their armor. He brought the jet around one last time, tilting it and slowing down so that Darlington could better pictures. Now the tree was entirely engulfed in flame, black clouds boiling into the sky. His mission was accomplished. "Viper wun to Control, Operation Thunder Strike accomplished, we are romeo tango bravo, over." Less than an hour after hostilities were officially begun, the EEF successfully did what Colonel Miles Quaritch and all his military force could not do: they had destroyed the Tree of Souls. There was no clearer message to be sent to the Na'vi: the humans could have been your allies, but you spit in our face. Now, you will feel our wrath. This? This was just the beginning. As two supersonic jets roared back towards their base, the Na'vi could only reel in shock as the true implications of their choice began to set in.

**Preview of Chapter Seven: Consequences of Conflict**

Jake was so angry that he almost couldn't see straight as he flew into Hell's Gate on his banshee, Ney'tiri and his elite guard following closely behind him. Settling down in front of a trailer that was left open to the Pandoran atmosphere and that had uplinks with the communications tower for Na'vi use, he jumped off his banshee, undoing his queue and patting Wraith on the side of his long neck only as a matter of habit. Striding into the trailer, he activated one of the comm screens, scowling when he saw the surprised face of Max. "Jake, what are you doing on Hell's Gate so soon, I thought that-"

"Patch me through to the EEF base, _right now_!"

"What? Jake, why? What's going-?"

"_NOW_!"

"Okay, fine, geez, no need to be so touchy." Max turned away from the screen and started to fiddle with something off screen. The screen flickered to pure black for a moment before it sprang back to life, revealing General Treleaven, now wearing a combat uniform rather than his dress uniform.

"Mister Sully. I was expecting this call."


	7. Consequences of Conflict

**AN: I love it when the first thing I write out doesn't save. *Sigh* Okay, so, the next chapter isn't done yet. I've been real busy with fixing up my dad's 1850s farmhouse with him and my step-mother and driving from New York to South Carolina to pick up my kid brother. That's a twelve hour drive, folks. I wish that I had something to offer as a preview, but what I have so far isn't worthy of such a prestigious and coveted position. Hopefully the fact that my lateness won't effect next week's posting. I will try and get the next chapter done by Monday, but you might get it on Friday. Sorry folks, I'll do my best, though. This chapter? Jake's POV, and he needs to make some huge decisions. Will he buck up, and become the leader that he needs to be? Read and find out!**

**Read, enjoy, and please review!**

CONSEQUENCES OF CONFLICT

Jake was so angry that he almost couldn't see straight as he flew into Hell's Gate on his banshee, Ney'tiri and his elite guard following closely behind him. Settling down in front of a trailer that was left open to the Pandoran atmosphere and that had uplinks with the communications tower for Na'vi use, he jumped off his banshee, undoing his queue and patting Wraith on the side of his long neck only as a matter of habit. Striding into the trailer, he activated one of the comm screens, scowling when he saw the surprised face of Max. "Jake, what are you doing on Hell's Gate so soon, I thought that-"

"Patch me through to the EEF base, _right now_!"

"What? Jake, why? What's going-?"

"_NOW_!"

"Okay, fine, geez, no need to be so touchy." Max turned away from the screen and started to fiddle with something off screen. The screen flickered to pure black for a moment before it sprang back to life, revealing General Treleaven, now wearing a combat uniform rather than his dress uniform.

"Mister Sully. I was expecting this call."

Jake didn't waste any time with formalities, too angry and shocked to pretend to be polite. "Do you know what you have done?" he snarled, baring his fangs as he gripped the cheap desk, the material creaking under his grasp as his fingers tightened and his muscles bulged.

The General only leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "I'm sure you already know the answer to that question, Mister Sully. I authorized an airstrike on a target of military value, as would any military commander in a war."

"Don't screw with me!" Jake shouted, bringing up a fist and pounding it against the desktop, leaving a dent. "Why there? That was a _religious site_! There were women and children that died there when you bombed it! Do you know what you have _done_?"

Now the General leaned forward, towards the camera. "Yes, Mister Sully, I know _exactly_ what I've done!" he snapped back, British accent becoming more pronounced with his irritation. "I'm sorry that innocents were killed, but this is war! You knew what would happen when you refused to accept my most generous offer for peace. I authorized a strike against a target that could be used not only to spread information rapidly to other tribes, but could also be used to talk with the moon itself. Not only that, but it was a source of cohesion for the Na'vi, a central figure in their religion. Without it, their morale will have suffered. Now I ask the same question, do you know what _you_ have done?" he asked, voice hard. Jake didn't answer, only glared at the man whose hand he had shaken only the day before. "Very well, I will inform you. You have willingly gone into a war with a species that has done some of the most dastardly deeds to members of their own species! We have murdered, raped, stolen from, and committed genocide against those that were considered different, even though they were human. We have developed poisonous gases, nuclear weapons, firearms that can fire exploding shells or fire thousands of rounds a minute. Our bombs can fell one of your 'hometrees' with very little effort. Even my own country has enslaved other civilizations, putting down 'brown' people for centuries, and I do apologize for using such terminology. Now take into consideration that the British are considered one of the 'good' civilizations."

"I know all that!"

General Treleaven slapped his desk, shooting up to his feet. "Do you?" he thundered, eyes glittering like lightning. "What kind of history of warfare do the Na'vi have? Maybe some tribal conflicts in the past? You are going to war against a people who have had maybe a century or two of peace throughout millennia upon millennia of civilization! The rest of it, we have spent figuring out how to kill each other in more and more inventive ways! Make no mistake, Mister Sully, I am not restricted here. I would have preferred peace, but now that I have been forced to fight a war, I will unleash all the hellish things that I have at my disposal. I will use every underhanded trick that I can think of, and I will encourage all my subordinates to do the same. You are now in a state of total war, Mister Sully! We already have the initiative...how disciplined are your armies now that we have managed to destroy a central facet of your culture less than an _hour_ after you decided to fight than to have peace?"

Jake didn't answer, but only glared at his adversary, wondering if the look of hatred that he wore concealed the fear that sat in a sour ball in his stomach. General Treleaven was right. All throughout the night, he had been in talks with other tribal leaders, who were in a state of frenzy. He had tried to teach the Na'vi military discipline over the years, but it hadn't quite caught on. Many of the Na'vi still thought largely as hunters rather than as tacticians. Useful for small guerilla campaigns, but for something like this...some of the tribes had wanted immediate retribution, had wanted to go and find the human base and destroy it. Fewer of the leaders but still a fair number argued that they should sue for peace before the Sky People could destroy another sacred site. Of course, there were the extremes. One or two tribal leaders had argued very loudly that all Sky People were evil, and so they should attack Hells Gate in retribution. Kill all the humans there to show the EEF that they were vulnerable, despite all their technology. At the opposite end of the spectrum, some said that they would go to the Sky People and make their own peace if he didn't. This started some very loud arguing. The Na'vi were divided and weak...unless he became the leader that they needed. He knew what he needed to do now. Straightening his shoulders and thrusting out his chest slightly, he took a deep breath and looked straight into the camera. "General Treleaven, I applaud your sense of duty, and your willingness to do what is necessary for your people. I just hope that you will be able to do the same for me after all of this is over."

General Treleaven gave a soft and sad laugh, shaking his head. "It appears as though you've had an epiphany. Just know this: I will always respect you and your position on Pandora, Mister Sully, and I am truly sorry for the roles that fate has given us. I ask that you forgive the actions that I have to take in order for Earth to survive."

Jake's mouth tightened at that, the flare of anger boiling up again, devouring his insides like a firestorm, and he looked away from the monitor. "Not yet, sir. It's too soon. Maybe someday, but not...not yet."

"I understand. I may never forgive myself." At Treleaven's soft admittance, Jake's eyes flew back to the screen, and he was shocked to see the deep sorrow in Treleaven's face. The old man truly did feel sad for what he had done, and suddenly Jake wished that it had been Treleaven and not Quaritch who had been chosen to be the military commander of the RDA SecOps. His humanity coupled with his willingness to do what was necessary might have saved Pandora from the flames of war. Here was truly an adversary he could respect, maybe not a friend, but definitely not someone to be hated. He was too good a man for that. Jake would have followed this man to hell and back, had he still been human.

"Sir...?" Jake waited until General Treleaven was looking at him, all his attention focused on his screen before he brought his arm up in a slow salute, face somber. "It is an honor to have such a man as my opponent, and I never thought that I'd say that."

General Treleaven stared at him in shock for a moment before another sad smile appeared on his lips. "Right. Mister Sully, it is an honor to have such a Na'vi as my opponent." He returned the salute, palm out in the British custom. They both dropped the salute at the same time by some small grace of God. "Unfortunately, I am busy at the moment, Mister Sully, so I will have to speak with you again at another time."

"I understand, sir. Just...please, try to leave the little ones out of the war as much as possible."

General Treleaven nodded. "I can promise that if the EEF launches a strike against a Hometree or other population center, I can give you...five hours forewarning. No more than that, unfortunately."

"I understand, and thank you for that consideration. My regards, General." The older man nodded, and the screen flicked off. Jake took a moment to compose himself before he turned and left the trailer. Ney'tiri and his guards were standing in a tight circle around the trailer, their faces stony, hands resting either on or near their weapons, and their Ikrans were nearby, hissing and snapping in agitation. The Na'vi saw him, and at a brief hand signal from him they started for their mounts. He jogged to Wraith and mounted him quickly, attaching their queue together in a fluid movement. "To the Tree of Souls!" he shouted, and in a flurry of movement, they all burst into the air, Wraith's wings beating, catching the air and propelling them forward. He took a moment to revel in the feeling of their closeness, the way he could feel what Wraith felt, that wonderful sensation of flying. It would never grow old, something that he was glad for. It was even better than the first steps he took in his Avatar body.

"Jake!" Ney'tiri called out, and he turned to face her. "Did you speak with him?"

"Yes. He said that he was sorry for the attack, but that it was necessary."

She hissed, baring her fangs. "Necessary? He will burn for his crimes like he made Eywa burn!"

He took a deep breath, hating himself for what he was about to say. "But wasn't it necessary? Try to see it from his point of view, Ney'tiri, he is just trying to-"

"I don't WANT to see it from his point of view, I don't CARE what he was trying to do! He killed our people! He burnt the Tree of Souls! He needs to _die_!" she snarled, and he fell silent, knowing that it would be pointless to continue the thread of talk. She was too angry, and justifiably so. The EEF struck a terrible blow against them. At the same time, they were right in hitting that target...had the war gotten much worse, he would have asked for Eywa's help again, even though he didn't think that would help much. General Treleaven wasn't the type of man to put everything into a single strike. He'd always have something in reserve. He was a good tactician like that. Now _he_ had to match that tactical prowess. The rest of the multiple hour ride he relaxed as much as possible, letting Wraith fly on his own power, guided only by the destination while he planned. The EEF had military technology that trumped his own, but that didn't mean that they would automatically win the war. If he played it smart, he could win. He just had to keep thinking that.

Okay. Facts. In an army versus army, balls to the wall full out slug fest, the Na'vi were going to lose. Unlike the RDA, the EEF had access to fighter jets, artillery, tanks, bombers, and who knew what else. If the Na'vi marched out into the plains with every single warrior who could pick up a weapon and fight, they would outnumber the humans more than one hundred to one, but that wouldn't be enough. Thank Eywa that he had managed to convince all the tribes early on that the humans would be back in a decade or so, and that they had enough resources to up their birthrate. Thank Eywa that Na'vi matured more quickly than humans. In the next five years, they'd have another wave of warriors who were even now being trained by Na'vi that he trained in methods that would be successful in combating humans. Thank Eywa that he was able to preserve the Stereolithography plant at Hell's Gate. Thank Eywa...

So. He had a massive army of Na'vi, who were resilient and steadfast warriors that fought like demons. He'd have half again as many Na'vi in the next five years. If the Na'vi kept reproducing at their current rates, they'd be able to out soldier the humans. Eventually they'd just bulldoze the humans into submission, even though that would be at great cost to the Na'vi. He had the Omaticaya, who were the only Na'vi who accepted the use of modern firearms en masse. They would form the core of any army that he might assemble. Some other tribes did have handfuls of Na'vi who had agreed to use human weapons, but only because the weapons held such a clear advantage over their previously used bows and arrows. Had even a small minority of the Na'vi had modern weapons at the Battle of the Tree of Souls, the result would have been much different, to the point where Eywa might not have had to get involved. The Na'vi knew this. They were stubborn, not stupid. Add on the fact that he had weapons that the EEF didn't know that he had, and he would actually be able to hold his own in an even fight against the EEF. The problem was, he didn't really have support weapons like artillery. It was going to be the close air support and artillery shields that would beat the Na'vi, not the small arms and mortars found at the company level in the EEF.

Therefore his tactics would have to be draw the EEF out in a fight. If he got within, say, fifty miles of the base, wherever the hell it was, he'd be at the extreme edges of artillery cover. That is, if they had Multiple Launch Rocket Systems and GPS guided artillery shells. He could probably get his army within forty miles of the base and still be out of range, but he didn't want to push his luck. He had radar guided Anti-Aircraft Artillery batteries like the ones at the Tree of Souls that could offer some protection for his army (damn the flux vortex that had messed with the AAA radar as much as it messed with any other electronics, or else they might have been able to shoot a jet down!), but the better choice would be to spread out his army as much as possible, so that bombs would do less overall damage. That, coupled with some of his other weapons...they'd just have to wait and see. Draw the EEF out into the open field, and play it very, very smart. He'd lose the battle, Eywa only knew, but he'd be able to hurt the EEF before being forced to retreat.

If only he could just sit back in the jungle. In the jungle, they had the clear advantage. The jungle was thick enough that the humans wouldn't be able to use their air support to its full potential, and artillery would be difficult to maneuver out to points where it could properly cover the EEF. His main objective would be to draw the humans into the jungle. He couldn't just sit back in the jungle and wait for the humans, unfortunately. The EEF had the overall advantage of time. Even if the Na'vi reproduced and reproduced, they had a very finite supply of weapons and ammo. If the humans kept coming from Earth, they'd be able to bring in more supplies, more weapons, more vehicles, and more troops. If their base was well thought out, they'd be able to build up a force so numerous and with such technological might that they'd be able to crush any Na'vi army that was raised up against it. If the Na'vi acted and fought, both sides would lose numbers, but the EEF might lose enough soldiers that they wouldn't be able to hold their defenses. They couldn't be allowed to control the initiative. Plus, if the Na'vi didn't march to a battle that they couldn't win, the EEF would use their air supremacy to continue to strike targets of opportunity. If they kept destroying Hometrees and bombing population centers, the Na'vi might have to sue for peace.

However, if the Na'vi fought a battle and lost it and began to flee, the humans would hopefully give chase, thinking that they had the advantage. Oh, the Na'vi tribal leaders weren't going to like hearing this strategy, but it was their only choice. Lose the first battles, and they might, _might_ be able to win the war. Draw the humans out, give them a false sense of security and of military prowess, have them overextend their lines, and once they couldn't properly protect themselves any longer, hit them and hit them hard. By that point, there might be as many as three thousand soldiers on Pandora. If he could draw out and destroy two thirds of that and capture their military hardware, he would be able to march on their base. It would still be a very bloody fight to take the base, and he might not succeed in the first attempt, but he'd be able to chip away at the EEF defenders. In a single short year, he might be winning the war. If he could muster enough Na'vi to encircle the base so that their artillery would have to engage multiple clusters of warriors rather than just one large army, he might be able to overrun their positions. It would be a long and gruesome conflict, but he could _win_!

Estimated casualties? He had a military force that stood more than one hundred thousand strong spread across the jungles, plains, and coasts of Pandora. It would take months to rally them in a cohesive army, during which time he would be able to find out exactly where the humans were hiding. Hit their supply lines with raids while avoiding a serious battle. Three months to lose the 'key' battles while keeping a good portion of his army still in the jungle, maybe half or so, while the rest retreated through a series of losing battles, drawing the humans further and further away from their safe haven. Once sufficiently drawn out into 'injun country' hit them with the bulk of his forces, and follow them all the way back to their base. Take the base, whether it took one assault or fifty. Over the course of the war, given that he was capable of keeping up army morale and not have more than five hundred deserters, he expected to lose sixty thousand. More than half his army to defeat three thousand humans. A twenty-to-one loss ratio. He shuddered, and Wraith squawked in response. "It's okay, boy," he muttered, patting the Ikran's powerful neck. But he'd wipe out the last human stronghold on Pandora, and he'd make sure to preserve more technology from the base, including the satellites. If the humans ever came back, he'd immediately know when and where, and he'd be able to hit them before they could establish proper defenses. If he could win this war. Which he could. Which he _would_!

"Jakesully! The Tree of Souls!" one of his guards cried out, and he snapped out of his thoughts, surprised to see the stone arches that so prominently marked where the tree used to stand. Had time flown by so quickly? His sharp eyes could see other Na'vi already on site, and he could see that they were the leaders of the other tribes. Good. They had received his orders to move from the new Omaticaya Hometree to the Tree of Souls. Now was the most critical part of his campaign. They all came in for smooth landings, and he dismounted before striding over to the group of twenty or so Na'vi, making sure that his stance exuded confidence. He was the leader here, no one else. Look at him! He was confident, ready, charismatic...the Toruk Makto!

"_Oél ngáti kámeie_!" he cried out imperiously as he reached the group that stood on the edge of the ampitheater that once held a central part of their culture. Now there was little more than the charred and splintered Tree of Souls. It had been completely shattered by the bombs and burned by the incendiary bombs that had followed. One of the stone arches had also been hit and had collapsed. His sharp eyes also sought out the strategic locations of the AAA batteries that he had placed in the jungles, but it looked like all four of them had been destroyed by cluster bombs. Just how many jets did the EEF send in here? "My brothers and sisters, here you see the result of a great crime upon our people! The Sky People have returned! Those of you who were with the Omaticaya people for our negotiations with their great chief know that they asked for the impossible, the right to come back to our lands and to mine the very land that they destroyed before. They wanted to mine the old Hometree, where so many of our innocent children, brothers and sisters, and mothers and fathers have rejoined Eywa! We did _not_ accept those terms, and asked that the Sky People leave peacefully before war could come again. This!" he shouted, sweeping his arms out to gesture at the still smoldering Tree of Souls, "This is their response to our reasonable request. Well I say no more! I have tried to follow Eywa's teachings and follow the peaceful route, but their thirst for war and their greedy hunger have forced us to fight. And fight we will!"

"What if we don't want war?" one of the clan leaders asked, his voice deep, rich, but tragically defeated. "They did this in the first hour of our war...what will they be able to do when they are given more time?" It was the Olo'eyktan from the Tawkami Clan. He would be the one to request a peaceful road. "I say that we surrender. I was there for the meeting, and this Olo'eyktan of the Sky People seems more reasonable than any before him. Would he stay true to his word, Toruk Makto?"

Jake paused before nodding solemnly. "Olo'eyktan Treleaven is honorable, so far as I have seen. He would do all that he has said that he would. And know this: if you so wish to come to peaceful terms with the Sky People, I will not stop you. You are your own clan leaders, and I can no more force you into this conflict than I can change what has been done here. However, know that if you do sue for peace, that you are turning your back on all the brave warriors who are going to fight for our freedom and our right to live peacefully. No longer can the Sky People travel from their dying planet, thinking that they can just take what they want! Let us come together once more so that we can rid Eywa of this plague of Sky People!"

The Olo'eyktan of the Tipani Clan, Sänume, nodded. "The Tipani will have its warriors join you in this fight." And thus it was. One by one, the clans swore to aid him in his cause, some more enthusiastically than others, but they all gave him their allegiance until only the Tawkami Clan remained undecided.

"Honorable Olo'eyktan, there is no need for your peaceful tribe to enter into the conflict. I will speak with Olo'eyktan Treleaven and tell him that your lands are not to be invaded or attacked, that they are neutral. The Na'vi will not use your lands as an area to gather forces. Both sides will recognize your neutrality."

"This is good for my people. I accept. The only warriors that I accept on my lands will be warriors in need of healing. If they try to bring the war to my people's lands, I will ban all from crossing my borders."

"This is reasonable, Olo'eyktan, and I thank you sincerely for letting wounded warriors find sanctuary within your hallowed lands." He turned away from the wizened Na'vi, and addressed all the others gathered. "In thirty day cycles, come to the new Omaticaya Hometree with all the forces you can muster, save for one out of every eight warriors who will stay behind to guard your loved ones and home while we are fighting against the Sky People. Fly, my brothers and sisters, fly towards a future where we have _crushed_ the Sky People, and rescued Eywa from their sickness of greed forever!" The clan leaders gave ululating cries and leaped into action, running for their Ikrans, mounting them before exploding into the sky, and Jake watched them for a moment before grimacing and looking away. Toruk Makto he might be, but by the time the war ended, he would be one of the most hated Na'vi in Pandoran history. The painful path the he was going to lead his people down was going to be their salvation but his damnation. "Eywa, lend me strength for what I must do," he muttered softly before slowly returning to Wraith. He still had so much to do...


	8. Hidden Enemies

**AN: Okay, I wasn't actually sure that I could make this deadline of mine. Technically I didn't, but I haven't gone to sleep since I woke up Friday morning, so it counts, dang it. I don't know when I'll be able to update next, though I should have some more free time to write. My fiance was visiting this last week, and I was busy with business before that, so I haven't had nearly as much time to write as I would have liked. Meh, c'est la vie. Now, about this chapter. Ah...this story is rated 'M' for a reason, so young children and those who do not like graphic violence should NOT READ THIS CHAPTER! Well...don't read past 'A week and a half later...' Also, please don't hate me for this. There will be an author's note at the end. This chapter was very difficult to write, for many reasons that you will see. We get to meet the Ellen Storch that isn't completely focused on the military, though, and that's good. I guess.**

**Read, I'll understand if you don't enjoy, and please review. And sorry, once more.**

HIDDEN ENEMIES

The shrill beeping of her alarm roused her from her sleep, and Ellen Storch sat up with a gasp, heart pounding. Glancing at the clock, she groaned at the time that the display cheerfully blinked at her. 0500. An hour before first formation. Normally the early hour wouldn't have bothered her, but memories of her childhood on the streets of Detroit had haunted her dreams, and she hadn't slept well at all. Groaning again, she slumped forward, resting her sweat dampened brow in her hands, taking in a deep shaky breath. Growing up in an orphanage was bad enough, but knowing that you had been _abandoned_ rather than having death take your parents away was painful, especially when the other kids compounded on that fact. _Yeah, well now I'm part of a family that's closer knit than anything you little shits could have come across_! she thought with a sneer. Lifting her head, she glanced around her dark room, and yawned as she stretched. The past was the past, no need to harbor on it. "Lights," she commanded, and with a flicker, the lighting in her small room came on, revealing her rather spartan quarters. Her cot, her foot locker, a wall locker, and a small desk dominated the room, while a door to the side led to her own private yet very small bathroom. A toilet, a sink with a mirror over it, and a shower that was just large enough for her to fit in it and have enough room to wash herself were the only amenities that she was afforded. Still, it beat having to share a latrine with the enlisted soldiers. One of the perks of being an officer.

She stripped out of her damp sleeping clothes and stepped into the small bathroom, turning on the shower. While she technically had enough time to take a full fledged shower, she didn't want to take two full showers in a single day, and it made no sense to get clean before they did PT. As Special Forces, the company's PT sessions were always taxing and challenging, and she hadn't had a PT session that she didn't end drenched in sweat or covered in dust or mud, weather dependent. All she wanted to do was get the clammy sweat from her nightmares off of her before she got dressed for PT. She stepped into the warm stream of water, sighing as she leaned against the still cool tiled wall, closing her eyes as the water ran over her...and opened them with a snap after red and blue lights flashed against the insides of her eyelids. Her memories just couldn't stay in her dreams where they belonged, could they? Quickly rinsing off, she stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and drying herself with brisk swipes, not caring when the rough cloth agitated her skin. She didn't _want_ to remember what had happened in the mean streets of Detroit! She didn't _want_ to relive the past that was the source of so much personal loathing. She only wanted to remember her time in the military. It was the only time of her life that she actually did anything worthwhile, something _worth_ remembering. Neatly hanging the damp towel up, she absently smoothed it out. If only Melissa was alive to see...

No! She would _not_ remember that, not now! That was more than ten years ago and almost five light years away, it had no place on this moon! She stormed angrily into her room, and got dressed into her PT uniform, both shorts and sleeveless t-shirt black in the standard style of the EEF special forces, unadorned save for reflective lettering on the shorts spelling EEF on the sides, and white lettering on the back of her shirt that stated her rank, last name, and first initial. That's all she had to do, concentrate on her job. "Pull yourself together, girl. You're twenty-three years old, physically! You're the pride of an entire planet!" She glanced around the room, to the 12 gauge shotgun in its place of honor, hanging above her head in the extremely off chance that the base defense got overrun while she was sleeping. Her personal computer on her desk. A thin sheaf of paperwork that she had taken to her quarters from the company building, paperwork that still needed to be worked on. Her rucksack, in the corner. Her rifle, leaning against the wall next to her cot. Her uniform for the day, waiting patiently for her to get done with PT, sitting atop her footlocker. Yes. These things were safe. Only her job was important. Nothing else mattered. She glanced at the clock. Time to go. Grabbing her reflective belt and a standard exopack, she headed out of her room. Time to start the day.

PT was the standard affair. A variety of hand-to-hand combat exercises, pugil training, and a quick run through a very impressive obstacle course. As always, she ended the PT session out of breath, muscles screaming, and with an overall satisfied feeling. A satisfied feeling that was thus far unmatched by the rest of the military campaign. She knew full well that there wasn't much that she could do about it, especially as such a junior officer, but still...it had been three months since the outbreak of hostilities between the EEF and the Na'vi, and so far nothing had happened. Yeah, the multipurpose fighters regularly went out, sometimes accompanied by the two supersonic bombers that the EEF had, and once she had watched the sole AC-150J that was on Pandora take off. Now THAT was something that she would have liked to see. The AC-150J was a modern version of the ancient AC-130U that had been used by the United States in the early twenty-first century. The AC-150J, also known as the Nazgul, featured a 105mm cannon, two 40mm cannons, and one 25mm five-barreled gatling gun. It would be one of the most invaluable aircraft on Pandora once the war truly got under sway...which it hadn't. Not yet.

It was understandable, of course. Standard tactics, don't fight the enemy on their ground, draw them into your ground, and hammer them with artillery, air strikes, and interlocking fields of fire. Even an army of ten thousand could be defeated by one thousand. Which was, as common sense practically screamed, the current situation on Pandora. So, she had been stuck here on this base for three months. The command element had been keeping them busy, to be sure. Defenses were still being dug, marksmanship training and tactical training was constantly ongoing, but she hadn't been ordered out of the base yet. And there were things to do outside the wire, out in Na'vi territory. Granted, the small mountain range that had been discovered over twenty years ago had no Na'vi near it, but had valuable amounts of metal ore in it, including iron. It was this site that was providing the majority of their raw materials. It needed security, as did the vehicles mining it and the vehicles transporting the raw materials back to Heaven's Pass. However, much to the chagrin of her entire unit, the Special Forces company was deemed too valuable to waste on such a standard job. It was the RDA SecOps who actually guarded the site. She'd even settle for doing farm work at this point, but that was all done by an automated hydroponics farm that was large enough to serve the entire base at full capacity. Granted, it was underneath the base that it actually served, but minor details didn't change the fact that it kept fresh vegetables in the mess hall. The livestock complex was also in no need of helping hands. As such, her job was to either help dig trenches or to train for the war that didn't seem to be starting.

She stepped out of the shower into the small steamy bathroom while breathing a soft sigh of relief. She was shampooed, conditioned, shaved, and trimmed, and ready to face the day's boring training agenda. Vital, yes, but still boring. The Na'vi culture class and the Na'vi class were unrivaled in telling the EEF how the Na'vi thought, what was important to them, and what they didn't view as necessary. The time that they were going to spend on the rifle range later would also be valuable...at least for her men. She didn't care quite so much for the marksmanship training, or hand-to-hand combat training, for that matter. Yeah, the hand-to-hand was physically demanding, and the shooting could be an almost zen activity, but she would be content with never having to actually take the life of any Na'vi while on Pandora. She was a leader of men, not the taker of lives. She wasn't a killer, not like _him_. Her mouth turned sour at the memory of his crazed laughter, the gunshots, the screaming. He was a murderer. She was here, protecting all of humanity. He was dead, shot seven times by a SWAT team. She was alive, and would never have to see the neighborhood that he had controlled like a tyrannical and twisted dictator ever again. She made sure that she would never be a murderer like him. Would she kill, if she absolutely had to? Yes. She wasn't a pacifist, and she knew how to kill, and that she likely would have to, but she'd avoid it for as long as she could.

Making sure that her exopack was sealed and that her beret was on her head securely, she stepped out of the airlock and into the dense Pandoran atmosphere, grimacing as she immediately started to sweat. It was difficult to keep uniforms properly starched when sweat and humidity kept destroying creases. She had already noticed some units not keeping up with the sharp creases, letting their uniforms become rumpled. She was sorely tempted to berate them, but it was not her place to do so. That task went to the officers of the units, though she had noticed that even the officers weren't maintaining crisp uniforms. Could she get into pissing contests with the entire EEF? Yes. Was that a wise decision? Hell no. She had better things to do than get in fights with her fellow soldiers. So long as her platoon kept up the high and tight appearance, she was content. And they did do that, thank the Lord. She reached the small parade ground that was assigned to the Company, and she greeted what few soldiers had gotten there before her. A few NCOs and enlisted men, no officers. Typical. Sighing through her exopack, she fished her datapad out of her pants' cargo pocket and began to review some of the basics of Na'vi culture. She had taken the class before, and multiple times, though each time the instructors tried to get more in depth. Frankly, at this point, her platoon would probably be expected to recite Na'vi basic history in the Na'vi language. She'd stumble in a few areas, sure, but she could probably do a lot better than half the Company.

"Lieutenant!" an almost breathless voice called out, and she looked up from her pad to see her guidon bearer running to her position, forest green flag flapping in the breeze, the winged dagger of the special forces a gleaming white beacon in the early morning light. Remembering one training incident where the then young and inexperienced Private Sanchez had been tricked into grabbing a guidon for a unit that didn't exist, she discretely checked the green banner. A white '3' for third platoon was directly below the winged dagger, a 'D' for Delta Company was to the dagger's left, and a '2' for second battalion rested above it. All was in order. "Good morning, ma'am!" Private First Class Sanchez barked, enthusiasm practically radiating from his body, and Storch had to resist the urge to smile. There was a reason why Sanchez was selected for the honor of bearing the Platoon's guidon. He was always motivated, and he knew drill and ceremony down pat. "That was some good PT this morning, hooah?"

She nodded, returning his brief salute. "Good morning, Sanchez. Yes, our PT training this morning was enjoyable. Are you ready for today's training?"

He nodded, bright white teeth easily visible as he smiled, boots crunching against the tightly packed gravel and sand of the parade ground as he moved so that he would be one step behind her and half a step to her left while she was facing Captain Burns for the morning formation, his coveted position as the guidon bearer. "Roger that, ma'am!" Tan showed up, and she stepped away from the head of the formation, letting him take charge of it. Now the other soldiers started filing in for the entire Company, and less than ten minutes later, she was able to do a quick head count that confirmed that her entire platoon was present. Good. The formation proceeded as every other formation did. She remained behind the platoon while First Sergeant Balow said his spiel, and switched spots with Tan when Captain Burns came up and gave what news he had to offer. It never changed much. Good job, troops. We'll be fighting soon, so keep up the morale and the excellent training quotas. We're the best company on the ground, et cetera, et cetera. All things that she had heard a hundred times before. The formation ended with her being ordered to take charge of her platoon and instruct her soldiers what the training schedule for the day was. She did so briskly and professionally, not letting her personal feelings show. Yeah, she could do a lot worse than let it show that she thought the day's training was redundant and boring, but as an officer she had to keep up the morale of her soldiers in any way that she could. Additionally, insubordination was a much more serious crime on Pandora than it was on Earth. There were rumors floating around that flogging was an accepted punishment for certain crimes, including gross insubordination. Whether that was true or not didn't matter right now, however. She ordered Tan to march the soldiers over to the classrooms before she moved out, heading towards the classrooms with an irrepressible feeling of discontent hanging about her. The next eight hours were going to be boring as hell.

And she was right, unfortunately. All the way up to lunch, the instructor droned on and on about the importance of the most minute of things in the everyday life of the Na'vi, pausing only to have soldiers recite what he had just said back to him in Na'vi. His voice was monotonous, his slides were drab, and she was honestly worried that she was going to die from falling asleep and impaling herself through the eye with her datapad's stylus. What a way to go. An hour before lunch, she idly wondered if she would cause too much of a commotion if she practiced disassembling her sidearm. She was in the very back of the amphitheatre like class with the other officers, so no one would see her, but the metallic clicks and clacks would undoubtedly draw attention. A shame. Confident in that the instructor, some egghead from the RDA side of the house, wouldn't call on her, she began to surf what little internet the base had operational. The man was pretty much blind, with glasses that had lenses about an inch thick. As she found a site offering solitaire for free, she idly wondered why the instructor hadn't had corrective surgery. She finished one game in less than five minutes. So much for that. Might as well do something more constructive with her time.

Using her clearance, she logged onto the base website and began to check out what weapons were available, how the defenses were coming along, what units were doing what mission, anything to keep her mind occupied. It looked like the company was going to be assigned back to the trenches soon, if the schedule rotation hadn't changed at all. While boring, it was also satisfying to see defenses grow stronger and know that you had helped make them. That, and there was that Russian Second Lieutenant from an Army Combat Engineers platoon that they generally worked with on the trenches who had caught her eye. The woman was a veritable Valkyrie: tall, blonde, an athletic body, and she was drop dead gorgeous, t'boot. Likely nothing would come of it, but there was no harm in trying. Plus, she could always stand to learn more Russian, beyond the four or five sentences that she already knew.

Looking up at the clock on the wall, she sat up straighter. Only five minutes until lunch began. Logging off of her datapad and putting it to sleep, she began to get ready to go. Five minutes later, she was releasing her platoon for chow. There were a few dining facilities, or d-facs, in the area that had a few different styles of food. Her soldiers weren't new recruits that had to be led everywhere by hand, they knew how to get back to class on time. As for her, she declined the offer from the other officers of the Company to eat with them. She wanted to try a new place that offered Thai food. She liked spicy, so it only seemed reasonable to go there. She set off, briskly, proud to be out and about in a normal uniform that showed off her airborne, air assault, and pathfinder patches, proud to have her special forces black beret that had her silver bright rank on the flash, proud to have her pants bloused over her black leather jump boots. She was a motivated and highly skilled soldier amongst other motivated and highly skilled soldiers that shared a common purpose. Pride and joy filled her chest, though the joy might have also been because she was out of the tomb-like classroom with a crypt-keeper for an instructor. Seven minutes of walking brought her to the d-fac, and her mood was dampened slightly when she stepped inside the building to find a sizable line already formed. She was also slightly dismayed to find that the majority of the patrons were RDA. There was still a lot of tension between the two different forces, a tension that was not likely to subside any great deal until the war started in earnest and units from both sides began to work together. She couldn't wait for the day. Unfortunately, it hadn't come yet. She received several unpleasant stares as she got in line. Not quite glares, but there was some hostility in the building. She ignored it with all the dignity she could summon, which was quite a lot, and got her food.

When she stepped into the dining room, she was annoyed to see that what EEF personnel had come here had come in groups large enough that there weren't any free seats at their tables. And the one free table in the joint was in the corner opposite where the EEF troops were sitting. Great. Huffing slightly, she made her way to the table and quickly began to eat. She still had plenty of time before she had to be back in her seat in the classroom, but she didn't want to linger here any longer than necessary. All she wanted was to eat alone in peace, without any trouble. Aaaand that went down the drain when an RDA soldier sat down at her table. "Special Forces, huh? Don't see many of you down at this part of the base," he said as he leaned back in the chair, a roguish grin on his tanned and handsome face. And he _was_ handsome, with high cheekbones, tan face, bright teeth, and twinkling brown eyes and dark hair. Yet something...something about him made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"Nope," she answered, and continued to eat while trying to discretely find out what was tripping her alarms. The soldier, a Corporal by the name of Anderson, was not deterred by her monosyllabic answer, and didn't stop trying to draw her into a conversation, even when she didn't stop answering him with either a single word or an inarticulate grunt. There! Another RDA soldier, watching them from across the room. Sharp eyes, no food in front of him, all he was doing was watching them with eyes like a predator's, like a wolf or a tiger. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she found the other two soldiers doing the same thing. Anderson either had friends or enemies, and she shifted ever so slightly, moving her leg so that if she had to go for her handgun she could without overdue trouble. The three watchers reminded her of similar tactics used on the streets of Detroit, long ago. Have someone catch her attention while there were three or more people playing guardian angel. They could get to her without her knowledge, had she not seen the exact thing done before. Had not _felt_ the same thing. A young woman's screams, gunshots, and pounding feet echoed distantly in her ears, and she lay down her spork. "What do you want?" she asked sharply, cutting off Anderson's dribble.

He paused, looking shocked before grinning again. "So she does speak! I was starting to get worried. I was just wondering if you'd be interested in joining some other soldiers, both RDA and EEF, in a runners' club. We run in the evening after the duty day is done, and in a sizable group, if you were interested. I kinda want to see if the Special Forces..._stamina_...lives up to rumor."

Lies. He did a good job at lying, but she could still tell. He picked the wrong person to try and entice. "Thank you, but no. Special Forces runs with Special Forces. Never talk to me again." She picked up her tray, deposited it, left the building, and returned to the classroom. Later on, she decided that she was aggravated enough by the strange encounter that she was going to pretend that every target had Anderson's face. She scored a thirty-six out of forty, six better than her average. That night, when she went running with the small group of Special Forces soldiers who exercised as much out of boredom as out of a desire to be physically fit, she made sure to have a few small but still extremely dangerous knives hidden about her person. Her instincts were practically screaming at her to do so, to be _extra careful_, that there was something bad going on. But time went on, with no change. She never saw Anderson and the three others again. There were no strange sights, no strange sounds during her runs with her fellow soldiers. Just to be certain, she kept her guard up for two weeks, but nothing happened. Maybe she had been wrong? Maybe Anderson had been honest...maybe he had a good reason to have the three others watching him. She knew that there were some soldiers who had held high-end government and social ranks back on Earth. Anderson hadn't had an accent, but he could have been the son of someone important back on Earth, someone who wanted insurance to make sure that his or her son was as safe as possible. It hadn't felt like it at the time, but...

A week and a half later, it happened. It was around 2200hrs, and she had just finished a three mile run with the other soldiers in the Company. She had been the only officer present, as the other lieutenant who usually came along for these runs had badly banged his knee up during tactical training, and was on orders not to run. As a result, she was walking back to the officer's quarters alone. They ambushed her five minutes from the Special Forces enlisted barracks. They did it _well_, as though they had practiced for just such an event. She had been alert, as always, and had seen the movement in the dark, about twenty feet away from her, in the shadows between two buildings. She had tensed, ready to shout, when she heard gravel being scuffed behind her. An ice ball descended into her stomach as she tried to whirl around even as she knew that it was too late. The movement in the shadows had been a decoy! The impact at the back of her head caused a starburst to go off and her legs turned to jelly. She tried to scream, tried to order her body to do something, _anything_, but nothing happened. Rough hands grabbed her and dragged her into the shadows. They dropped her onto the ground with no kindness, no mercy, and her head bounced off the ground, causing another attack of the sparkling lights to go off, and she whimpered. There was the flash of light off of a knife, and vomit rose in her throat. _I'mgoingtodie!_ Instead of the hot pain of a knife wound, however, there was an odd tearing noise, and a sudden coolness on her numb skin. Her clothes. Her first instinct was to fight, scream, kick, and claw like a wild animal, and she brutally battered that instinct down through iron discipline and will that she hadn't known she had. If she fought, she might die. She was only being raped. It was horrible, but she could survive this. As far as torture went, rape wasn't that bad. She repeated these half-truths to herself as her senses slowly returned. Four. There were four silhouettes in the starry sky. They spoke in low voices, using a language she didn't immediately recognize, and she couldn't see their features through their exopacks. They seemed to be wearing nondescript clothing, PT clothes that every soldier in the base had.

A boot kicked into her side, connecting with her ribs, and she bit back a yelp as the breath was driven from her lungs. She knew exactly what they were doing. When she was younger, she had been running through a busy street before slipping in a puddle and falling down, her rib hitting a railing as she fell. She hadn't been able to talk for ten minutes, though she had been somewhat able to breathe. Another boot connected, and another, and another, raining blows on her torso, her hips, and her arms and legs. After what seemed like an eternity of pain and bright flashes of pain, they stopped their assault. Taking a chance as the first of them settled between her legs and she steeled herself for the pain that was about to follow, she reached up and fisted her hand into his shirt, hooking a thumb through a chain around his neck. Dog tags? She could only hope so, 'cause they were her only chance at ident-

PAIN! She grit her teeth as the pain seared into her, but she kept as quiet as she could, not giving the bastards the satisfaction of her tears or her pleas. She knew this part of the base...buildings had airlocks, you couldn't hear things going on outside, and roving guards weren't mandatory in this area. If someone happened to be walking by at the right moment, she could get their attention, but she had to wait, had to...a flood of warmth within, and she again had to fight the urge to vomit. The man snorted, said something to his comrades, and began to pull out, began to get off of her. A large hand reached for her fist, preparing to remove her grip on his shirt. _Now!_ She burst into action, her free hand clawing and whipping out, seeking a pressure point, _any_ pressure point even as she squirmed, getting a leg free, driving it up between his legs with all the force that she could summon, and she connected. Her assailant bellowed and jerked away, his necklace chain snapping, and she barely managed to keep her grip on it. A sudden burst of light, and she winced, thinking that she had suffered another blow to the head, but when no dizziness followed the flare of light, she realized that it had been a flashlight. There were shouts of anger, the sound of a gun being fired, and her assailants were gone, followed closely by other people clad in Special Forces black. She wanted to go after them, wanted to hunt them down, but all she could do was curl up into a ball and cry, clutching the necklace chain to her bruised breasts. Anguished voices, around her. A blanket covering her near naked form. Gentle hands and arms lifting her, placing her in a vehicle. And all she could do was cry.

**AN 2: Okay, so. Yes. Ellen Storch was raped by four unknown (for the time being) assailants. This is not meant to be cliche, or astounding, or mind blowing. Because, unfortunately (and it makes me sick to my stomach to say) but this DOES happen, in all militaries across the world. I was told once, that one in four personnel deployed to the war on terror, both male and female, experience sexual harrassment or assault while deployed. I wish that were false. It also happens in cities and towns all across the world. Ladies and men both, I say this with utmost sincerity: if you are travelling in an area where this crime has been known to happen, don't go alone, and be prepared to the possibility. Storch is lucky enough to have been through multiple overlapping training sessions that allowed her to respond to this particular situation in a fashion that suited her best. My father told my sisters this advise on the subject: If you are being followed, and you have no other options, run while screaming fire. People are fascinated by fire, and they will come to someone shouting fire more than they will come to the aid of someone shouting rape. As a last resort, take a rock and throw it throw the nearest window that has lights behind it. Better to pay for the window than be raped. Do NOT do what Storch did, other than try and memorize as much as possible about your assailants, as well as try and get some form of ID, though the latter is likely to be impossible. Most of all, just be careful. Be situationally aware. My mother used to live in Boston, and not in the best of neighborhoods, but she was never bothered because she made pains to not dress like a woman (she would generally wear blue jeans and a BDU field jacket) and by keeping her head on a swivel. I am truly sorry for making Storch go through the above event, but this moment is a catalyst for her. You'll see in future chapters, maybe even the next one. I'll get to work on the next chapter ASAP. Once again, sorry.**


	9. Operational Discord

**AN: So, it took me two weeks, but here's the next chapter. Tan's POV, and I'm probably going to continue writing the chapters in the order that I've already established, POV-wise. So, last chapter was Storch, this chapter is Tan, the next chapter will be Treleaven, then it will be Harrison, Trudy, Jake, and then lather, rinse, repeat. Occasionally, a chapter will be written in a 'cameo' appearance, like 'Operation Thunder Strike.' You can expect to see fighter pilots, tank commanders, crazy British soldiers, and more. The cameo chapters might also have multiple POVs in one chapter, unlike the chapters written in the POV of one of the main characters. There. Now you guys know what to expect. As stated before, this chapter is in Tan's POV, and you can guess how he takes the events of the last chapter. Yeeeah. Sorry, but no preview of the next chapter.**

**As a note, in current times, Drill Sergeants are technically not allowed to strike soldiers while in training. However, in the future, such physical punishment has made a return, and things are more like Stanley Kubrick's _Full Metal Jacket_. While I don't condone physical abuse in any situation, soldiers will be put into situations where they are going to get hurt, and being used to thinking through the pain is only an asset in combat, rather than locking up and thinking: 'Ow, that _hurt_!' This will probably make an appearance later, but it's not entirely common knowledge that one of the major objectives while in a knife fight is to get the other guy to concentrate on the pain rather than the fight. If you can get the guy to go: 'Shit! That smarts!' you can win easily, because he's concentrating more on his boo-boos than on the fact that you are trying to stick him with a sharp piece of metal.**

**Warnings: a LOT of swearing in this chapter, and understandably so. There is also physical punishment. If these things make you uncomfortable, don't read this chapter.**

**Read, enjoy, and REVIEW!**

OPERATIONAL DISCORD

He had never been so angry in his entire life. His evening was not supposed to go this way, not at all! The problems had started when the group of soldiers in the Company who ran at night returned from their daily exercise, in good humor, joking and roughhousing in a familiar manner. He had noted their return absently, as he was busy filling out reports. It wasn't until they had been back for ten minutes when he remembered that Lieutenant Kozlowski had injured himself during training and therefore couldn't run. The only other officer who ran was Lieutenant Storch, who had been visibly on edge for the past couple of weeks. A feeling of dread had suddenly come over him, and he had banged his knee against his desk as he vaulted over it, stopping only to throw on his shoes and grab his sidearm and an exopack before bursting into the platoon bay.

"Hey, Sarn't Tan, you look like you've seen a ghost, what's going on?"

"Did anyone walk Lieutenant Storch back to her quarters?" he snapped frantically. Blank faces had answered him, and he bit back a curse in Korean. "Five volunteers with weapons, NOW!" His frantic tone of voice more than their respect for him sent them scrambling, and seven soldiers were in boots and sneakers and armed with rifles, shotguns, and pistols in less than a minute, ready to go. They had waited impatiently for the airlock to equalize, but once it did, they were off running, ears straining for any sound that was out of place in the Pandoran night. They had been running for a few minutes when his eyes saw the marks in the gravel walkway that indicated something had been dragged. He slid to a stop, the seven behind him doing the same, and he froze, heart pounding in his ears as he listened hard. Nothing...had his eyes been mistaken, or had she been taken away in a vehicle? He turned around. "You two, go ahead to the officers' quarters, and see if she has arrived there," he said, pointing to the two soldiers who he knew were the fastest in the group. They didn't say anything, just took off at a fast clip, not fast enough to be a sprint that would wear them down quickly, but nowhere near slow enough to be considered a jog. "You, go back and get a vehicle, something that can carry casualties." Corporal Anwar nodded, spun around, and ran off into the darkness. "The rest of you, I think she was taken here. Stay with a partner, and spread out. We _need_ to find her!"

The next few minutes were spent in agony, searching for his Lieutenant. The marks in the gravel definitely came from someone or something being dragged, so she couldn't be too far away, unless they had gotten her into a vehicle. He swore softly to himself as he heard the throaty growl of one of the Company's few vehicles as Anwar returned. He was turning back towards the small road when he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, deep in the shadow. He was already spinning towards the movement, hand going for his flashlight when a man's pained bellow ripped through the night. He turned on his flashlight, and what he saw was so enraging that he couldn't even comprehend it for an eternal second. Then the roaring in his ears and the red haze over his eyes lessened, and he shouted out in inarticulate rage, sidearm snapping up. He slipped into a shooting stance, the pistol's sights settling over one of the rapists' backs, and his finger found the trigger. He applied a little pressure, fully prepared to fire as the four men fled deeper into the darkness, but he froze, cursing. If he fired, there was a chance that he would hit his Lieutenant. A miniscule chance, but a chance nonetheless. He hissed some choice words in Korean before firing a round over their heads to give them something to think about. By now the rest of his men had rejoined him, and three of them automatically split off, sprinting after the rapists, but he knew that they had likely escaped. He put them out of his mind for now...his Lieutenant needed him. He ran over to her hunched body, sliding to a halt next to her, barking out orders to those who were still there. A blanket seemingly materialized out of nowhere, and he carefully covered her up before picking her up with the aid of another soldier. They carried her back to the vehicle that Anwar had brought back, and the moment they had her secured they sped off, tires spinning in the gravel before finally getting some traction and rocketing the truck forward.

No words were spoken as they drove towards the base hospital. Storch had stopped crying shortly after they had started driving, but her eyes were blank, and her face was slack. Her lack of animation was such that she may has well have been a doll, not a living person at all. Tan didn't trust himself to talk, so filled with rage and shame as he was. Anwar didn't speak either, instead concentrated on driving. The fifteen minutes that it took to get to the hospital seemed to drag on for an eternity, and each passing minute found Tan more and more agitated. He should have been there for her. Oh, when he got back to the platoon, _heads_ were going to roll. Did they not understand that nobody went anywhere without a battle buddy? Now their Lieutenant was...his ground his teeth together, a sour ball forming in his stomach, and he fought the urge to vomit. He had _failed_ her! Wholly and completely, he had failed to protect his officer. Again, the urge to scream in raging anger almost overwhelmed him and it was only his discipline that prevented him from agitating Storch any further. He was both frightened by and reassured by her passivity. She was not a passive woman by nature, but she wasn't losing control. He just hoped that she would be able to recover from what had happened to her.

"Sarn't, the hospital!" Anwar's sharp shout broke him out of his musings, and he glanced at the bright lights of the building ahead of them. At the same moment, Storch finally broke out of her unnatural lethargy. Her bruised and bloody hand found his, and she pressed a small and flat metal object into his palm before she closed his fingers around it. Shocked, he looked down at her, to see her eyes glittering fiercely in the dark.

"Don't! Look! At! It!" she ground out, struggling with each word, her voice hoarse. "He is..._mine_!" Their eyes locked, and Tan swallowed reflexively. The vehicle jerked to a stop. A door opened as Anwar leaped out of the truck, his boots clattering against the ground as he ran towards the Emergency Entrance of the hospital, voice loud and frantic as he shouted for help. All throughout, Tan couldn't tear his eyes from Storch's, and he was frightened by what he saw. There was burning hatred and a terrible grimness in her eyes that had never been there before. Wordlessly, he nodded, and he pocketed the metal tab, not even acknowledging that he now had the dog tag of one of the rapists. He had a blank piece of metal that belonged to Lieutenant Storch, nothing more. The doors of the truck opened, and medical personnel were suddenly there, loading Storch onto a stretcher before wheeling her off to the emergency room. Though he desperately wanted to follow her and keep watch over her, he knew that he couldn't. He had a job to do. He ordered Anwar to stand guard, with permission to shoot _anyone_ who wasn't part of the hospital staff if they bothered the Ell-tee before he hopped into the truck, and drove back towards their barracks. He had a job to do.

xxxXXXxxx

The airlock hissed as it finally completed its task of regulating the atmosphere, and he peeled off his exopack with one hand as the other jerked the handle open, and he burst into the room, face stormy. "Toe the goddamn line!" he roared, and there was a flurry of movement as the platoon leaped up from their bunks or from the pieces of weight lifting equipment that someone had scrounged from someplace or another. "You jackasses in the lounge and the latrine better hurry up and get in here NOW!" A handful of soldiers ran into the platoon bay from the latrine or the small room that served as the platoon recreation room, and soon the entire platoon was standing around the long rectangular 'kill zone.' In basic training, this area would be reserved for the drill sergeants, touched by recruits only when ordered to. It was also an area bordered by tiles that were a darker shade than the rest of the floor, and it was this line that the platoon toed. "What! The! FUCK!" he snarled, and he already knew that he was going to swear more now than he had in his entire history as the platoon sergeant. He was allowed to, given the circumstances. "Who is part of the running group?" Seven hands went up, and he stormed over to the first soldier. "Don't flinch!" was the only warning he gave before he slammed his fist into the stomach of Private Hiruma. The man grunted, and bent over Tan's arm before retching, not throwing up by some small miracle. Tan repeated the process, not holding back even for the one female in the group. All the soldiers in the platoon had suffered worse in Basic Training, AIT, Special Forces School, and other portions of their training process, and he had personally struck soldiers before during hand-to-hand training. This was the first time that he was using it as a punishment. "This is only a small part of what Lieutenant Storch went through when she was _raped_ this evening! Everyone, drop!"

The entire platoon dropped to the front leaning rest position, shame thick in the air. "You ain't met an ogre like me, you sorry bastards!" he snapped as he stalked up and down the line. "This all could have been prevented if you had the foresight to travel in battle buddy groups! How many times have I drilled it into your heads to never go anywhere alone? Push!" Silently, they began to do the push-ups, nobody uttering a word. "This is going to be the worst night of your _life_! Simmons, Dutch, did you ever catch the bastards?"

Without stopping their push-ups, they answered, voices angry and frustrated. "No, Sergeant, they managed to get away. They knew the area more than we do, and were able to lose us in the dark."

He swore silently to himself, though now the dog tag in his pocket seemed to weigh a ton. He could feel it, pressing against his leg, and his fingers itched with the temptation to look at the tag, to find out who owned it...but he would not disobey his superior's direct order. Noticing that the platoon was starting to slow down on their push-ups, he scoffed. "Alright, you dogs! On your backs...the flutter kick!"

"THE FLUTTER KICK!" they roared back.

"In cadence!"

"IN CADENCE!"

"_Exercise_! One-two-three!"

"ONE!"

"One-two-three!"

"TWO!" None of them were going to get to sleep that night, he was going to make _sure_ of that.

xxxXXXxxx

He was yawning as he made his way up the front steps of the hospital, but he didn't care. Captain Burns had given the platoon the day off due to the incident, a fact that the platoon was no doubt happy about. He had smoked them until they were vomiting with exhaustion, muscles at the point of failure he had worked them so hard. They wouldn't have been able to function today. Push-ups, sit-ups, exercises with their rifles, flutter kicks, low crawling around the bay, lunges, side straddle hops, holding their duffel bags over their heads, and so many more things. Every dirty trick that he could remember from his years as a soldier he had used. He hadn't enjoyed it, not in the least. He loved the soldiers of the platoon, but they had screwed up so very, very badly, and they would remember this punishment for the rest of their lives. He was also dead certain that they would never go anywhere without a battle buddy again. God help them if they did. As it was, they had very strict directions to take no longer than a two hour nap between 1000hrs and 1200hrs. If he caught anyone sleeping for the rest of the day, he would repeat the smoking process that night. He had made this very clear to the squad leaders.

He waited impatiently for the airlock to pressurize before heading to the reception desk. "Lieutenant Storch," he said briskly, and the receptionist gave him directions. He nodded his thanks and made his way through the busy halls of the hospital. He had received the call from Anwar twenty minutes ago that Storch was ready to be released, and he had made his way over to the hospital as quickly as he could, stopping only to get a driver and a vehicle. He could drive as well as any in the platoon (wisecracks about his Asian heritage be damned) but he couldn't smoke the platoon for hours and hours because they didn't provide Lieutenant Storch with a battle buddy and then go somewhere without a battle buddy. He was not a hypocrite. He reached the correct door and knocked lightly on the frame before entering the room. He was pleased to see that Anwar had a hand resting lightly on his sidearm until he recognized who it was that was entering Storch's room. The good corporal had taken his words to heart. Commendable. "Ma'am," he murmured softly, and once she looked at him, he bowed deeply. "I apologize for not having the foresight to protect you from this grave evil. My family and I are your servants to clear our name of this ineptitude. I-"

"Oh, Jesus, Tan, it's not like I was mutilated. A 'morning after' pill, some pain medication for my bruised ribs, and I'm good to go. Corporal, if you would go ahead to the truck...I don't feel comfortable having any of our soldiers alone right now." Anwar hopped up, popping into the position of attention before heading out of the room, his stride confident. The moment he was out of sight, she grimaced, hands reaching for her ribs, and Tan winced. 'Good to go' did not seem to be quite the correct way of putting her current condition. After a moment, she tried to straighten, deliberately placing her hands at her sides, though she was slightly hunched over, her face strained. She was in pain. "Tan, what happened is my fault as much as anyone else's. I should have had a couple of the men escort me to the officer quarters, but I thought that I'd be safe so near to our barracks. Now we know better." She paused for a moment, looking at the light blue blanket covering her lap. "Do you have it?"

Wordlessly, he pulled the dog tag from his pocket, and handed it to her. She stared down at the flat piece of aluminum for a long, drawn out moment, her face unreadable. "Who is it?" he asked, but she shook her head.

"This isn't your burden to bear, Tan. This is my own. I will take what steps I can to bring the perpetrators to justice, but if that doesn't work, well..." Again, her eyes dropped to the blanket, and the light chatter from outside the room was the only think heard for some time. "Tan...I am a leader of men, but I fear that I must be more than that now. I...I never w-wanted this to happen, b-but...I need you to teach me h-how to b-be a killer," she whispered, voice strained. He was shocked at how she stuttered...she had never done so before. In a sudden burst of understanding, he realized that her relatively poor skills at marksmanship and hand-to-hand training might have been a personal choice more than a lack of ability. She had deliberately chosen to not do well. What event in her past had caused this?

"Ma'am...if this humble one may be so bold to ask...why have you been holding yourself back?"

Shocked eyes flitted up to meet his before looking away. "There was someone from my past who reveled in killing. I don't want to end up like him. He took the person that I cared the most about from the world, laughing while he did it, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I never _ever_ want to become like that, but I'm afraid that I will if I...if I f-found pleasure in p-practicing the art of killing."

Tan knew of the type that she was talking about. Sometimes even the most well intentioned soldier became evil and twisted after taking too many lives, living for the bloodshed. He had known a few such men and women, and their fates were never happy ones. One couldn't tell if a soldier would or wouldn't end up that way, but like the children of abusive alcoholics, sometimes it was those that swore the loudest to never become like those that came before that became the most twisted and evil. If Storch was professing a secret fear...he swallowed uneasily. She knew her own soul better than any other, so such a fear was likely to be a valid one. "Ma'am, I could dispose of any-"

"No!" she shouted angrily, voice cutting across his words sharply. Her face, hard with anger and bitterness, slowly softened, and she sighed wearily. "No...if worse comes to worse, the path that must be taken should only be taken by a single soul, and I think that I've fucking earned the right to do what must be done. These animals will never rape another soul, that I swear! I will need your help, though, Sergeant First Class Tan. You wish to be my servant? Fine. Teach me how to rid Pandora of these scum. I will destroy them, I swear it." The fact that her voice was completely level and calm was the most frightening thing about her words, and he shifted uncomfortably. She blinked, and then looked around as though she were coming out of a trance. "Right. I'm tired, Tan, let's head back to the barracks. What are our duties for the day?" she asked as she pushed her blanket back and tore the flimsy hospital gown from her body, apparently not concerned with her nudity. Tan blushed and averted his eyes, preserving what little of her modesty that he could. Despite this, he could still see the bruises that spread across most of her torso and up and down her arms and legs. More evidence of his failure to her. A knot of cold anger formed in his stomach, and he briefly wondered if he was going to be ill. No...it wasn't that bad.

He listened as she dressed quickly. The hospital had provided her a clean set of PT clothes, and it didn't take long before she headed for the door, and he followed her, ready to kill anyone or anything that accosted her. However, just before they left the room, she turned back and stared at him with eyes that seemed far older and more fatigued than her age would suggest. "Sergeant...will you? Will you teach me?"

He paused for a minute, hesitating for a reason he couldn't quite place. He felt as though accepting this and teaching her would change everything. He had known Storch for more than a year now...he genuinely admired her, and it felt like teaching her to be a killer would change who she was, and that made him uncomfortable. However...however, there were four predators out there, and during one of the few breaks that he had given the platoon while he had been smoking them, he had done some research. There were four other incidents where four males attacked a solitary female soldier out of the shadows during the night. Only two of those other incidents had ended in rape, but it didn't change the fact that these four operated with an easily recognized modus operandi. There had been other rape and sexual assault cases on the base that spanned back a decade, but only four of them had likely been those that he had encountered that night. They needed to be stopped. "Yes. I will teach you. I warn you, though, that I will not coddle you. I will cause you pain, and a great deal of it. I will tell you more, later, in a place where we won't be bothered, but if you become my student, it will be a long and difficult road. If you accept this, then I will teach you. However, if you complain even once, I will teach you no more. Do _you_ accept?"

With hazel eyes as hard and as bright as diamonds, Storch nodded, and Tan knew that things would never be the same again...and his gut said that it was going to get worse before it got better.


	10. The Price of Leadership

**AN: So, this one isn't particularly long, especially not when compared with the last handful of chapters. However, I wanted to update the story before I went away for training. Yup, that's right, folks, I'm going to be going to a military base for the entire month of August. I'm helping my unit prepare for a deployment, which means a lot of paperwork and shuttling supplies and people, so I don't know how much time I'm going to have for writing. I'm also not certain if I'll have internet access, either. In short, please be patient through August. If you don't see any updates, now you know why.**

**In other news, I'm starting a short story that I hope to get published when I complete it. It shouldn't interfere TOO much with Pandora's Shadow, but who knows what will happen when. My Junior year of college will also be starting for me soon, but that simply means that when I'm not studying or playing xbox, I can still write. Crazy random happenstance abound, Pandora's Shadow is also now 100 pages long in microsoft word! Neat, huh? Hopefully you guys enjoy this chapter!**

**Read, Enjoy, and Please Review!**

THE PRICE OF LEADERSHIP

There were times when General Treleaven truly hated being in the military. For the most part, he loved it, as it was a challenging career choice that he had constantly worked at and tried to be the best that he could, not only as an officer but also as a moral and good person. Unfortunately, there were times when he had to do the wrong thing in order to achieve the good and just objective. It was those times that kept him awake at night, and he had the nagging feeling that the Pandoran Campaign was going to be full of these moments. The first event that he was going to lose sleep over was the fact that he even had to declare war on the Na'vi. He would view that as a personal failure all the way to his grave. What if he had tried harder to reach the Na'vi leadership? What if he had been slightly more lenient in his terms of peace? What if, what if...every day was full of such things, and he couldn't second guess himself. What was done was done, even if he regretted the way that things had turned out to be. After war had been declared, he had no choice but to conduct it to the best of his abilities, which were quite extensive. He was certainly not the best general on Earth, and once he had been informed of the EEF's decision to name him as the commanding officer, he had immediately responded by sending in a forty-three page report that detailed three other officers who he personally felt would be able to conduct operations on Pandora better than he could. The response to his response was short and curt: "You are the commanding officer. Your opinions have been noted and dismissed. Congratulations. Suck it up." He still had that file saved somewhere...

If the necessity of war against the Na'vi was his first regret he earned whilst on Pandora, the rape of Lieutenant Storch and the things that followed it proved to be his greatest regret. His personal involvement in the horrid business began a week after the crime had been committed. He had heard of the rape, but was content with letting a military tribunal take care of matters. He would sit on the judging panel when the time came, but he figured that there would be no need for the case to affect his daily life. It was horrifying that it had happened, of course, and he had been angry and shocked when he had first heard about it. Lieutenant Storch was a young, capable, and so far as he could tell, smart officer. So long as she didn't die, he was convinced that she had a good chance to end up in his seat some day long after he was gone. After she had provided security for him during the negotiations, he had read her file, and had been extremely impressed. She was a solid officer, and what's more, he was starting to like the young lady. She reminded him a great deal of himself, way back when he was still young enough to be full of piss and vinegar.

So, the news had dealt him a hammer blow of shock and anger. Of all the people that it could have happened to, she deserved it the least. However, there was little that he could do. Thus, it came as a shock when he was interrupted while doing some logistical work by a sharp knock on the door. He looked up to see Lieutenant Rockwell standing at the door, nervously biting her lip. "Yes, _Lef_-tenant?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Is anything the matter?"

"Uh, sir...there's some of the Special Forces officers asking if they can speak with you."

He frowned. "I'm not scheduled to speak with them, am I?"

"Ah, no sir...they look very determined."

He snorted and sat back in his chair. "I'd be rather concerned if they _didn't_ look determined, _Lef_-tenant. Send them in, if you would, as well as some coffee and tea." She nodded, turned around, and headed towards the entrance of the office. He expected the higher ranking officers, so when a colonel entered, followed by a lieutenant colonel, followed by a captain, followed by a lieutenant came in he was surprised. He had the entire chain of command for the Special Forces Company in his office. Lieutenant Storch, Captain Burns, Lieutenant Colonel MacDougal, and Colonel Reed. He suddenly realized what was going on, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk while steepling his fingers before his mouth. "Close the door," he ordered quietly without taking his eyes off of the group in front of him. "_Lef_-tenant Rockwell, admit no one into the office until these chaps leave, not even God Himself, am I understood?" She nodded, face paling as she left, closing the door shut. "I must say, I'm surprised to see you all here. Especially since Colonel MacDougal and Colonel Reed are in charge of more than just our little Special Forces unit. Colonel MacDougal, you are in charge of the Special Warfare Battalion, am I correct? This including Captain Burns' company, the Civil Affairs and Psychological Operations companies, and our Advanced Special Forces teams, of course."

"Yes sir," the tall and hulking man responded, voice surprisingly gentle for such a massive man. "Captain Burns came to me with an issue, and I didn't know how to handle it, so I went to Colonel Reed, and she was likewise befuddled."

Colonel Reed, the woman in charge of the single Infantry Regiment (short) on Pandora, nodded. "Sir, I'm sure that you've heard that Lieutenant Storch was raped, and we believe that we have a prime suspect, however..."she reported, visibly uneasy. He said nothing, just stared at the severe looking woman. In another life, she might have been the head librarian or the math teacher that scared children and adults alike. Infantry was more suiting for her, he had to say. "Sir, it's Corporal Sam Anderson."

His lip instantly curled back in disgust. "Oh, _that_ little shit, eh?" Corporal Anderson was well known for being charged of several crimes even before the EEF showed up, but he had never been convicted. It didn't help that he was very charismatic and always had an alibi for every time that he came before a tribunal. He also had one more thing going for him: his mother's sister married Major Randall prior to his departure to Pandora, and Randall was very protective of his nephew. While not able to advance Anderson through the ranks for fear of being charged with nepotism, Randall found that he could prevent his nephew from being convicted. Treleaven knew that this time would prove no different. He even knew how it would go. They would try to charge Anderson with the rape of a female officer of the EEF, Major Randall would strongly advise against such a thing for fear of it, ah, permanently _damaging_ the already strained relationship between the EEF and the RDA, which could lead to bloodshed between the two groups of humans, and Anderson would have an alibi ready. They wouldn't be able to get him. "Well, _Lef_-tenant Storch, I regret to inform you that there's very little that I can do." He grimaced, and spread his hands apart. "If we charge him, it may result in open warfare between the EEF and the RDA, and God only knows the Randall will bloody protect him. I feel sick saying this, but we have to let him go."

Lieutenant Storch sucked in a breath, face going pale, though if it was from rage or from some other such emotion, he couldn't tell. "Sir," she hissed, teeth clenched and fists tightening. "Are you suggesting that we let a rapist go free? I've looked up the stats, there have been more women who have been raped under similar conditions...he's done it before and he'll do it again, I _know_ it!"

He sighed sadly. "I know, and I hate that my hands are so tied, but there's _nothing_ that I can do." He paused, and leaned forward over his desk. "However, I'm sure that no one will be overly distressed if the good Corporal ends up in a ditch somewhere after a rape attempt goes horribly, horribly wrong."

She swallowed heavily, and all the other officers fidgeted. What he was suggesting...it was madness! "Sir, are you suggesting that I..."

He frowned, and let a hint of frost touch his words. "_Lef-_tenant, I am suggesting nothing, I am merely stating a fact. Do with it what you will. I can't do anything about Anderson. You lot are dismissed." They all went to attention before turning and leaving, and he couldn't miss the look of anger on Lieutenant Storch's face. Once the door was shut, he sighed heavily. She wasn't the only one who was angry. He hated that he couldn't do anything officially, though he wouldn't be surprised if Corporal Anderson ended up dead within the next few months. If there was anyone who could do the clandestine operation of assassinating the rapist, it was Lieutenant Storch and her soldiers. Anderson chose the wrong person to rape. Shaking his head slightly, he stood, and grabbed his exopack. He couldn't spend the entire day brooding over a single unfortunate event, no matter how severe the event was. He had a job to do. He entered into the outer office and found his aides already ready to go. "Captain, _Lef_-tenant, let's go conduct a war."

Ten minutes later they were in the base's central Command and Control Center. It was from here that he would be conducting the war against the Na'vi, and several of the other highest ranking officers were already in the room. He nodded briskly to Major Randall, and the man returned the nod with the slightest of head tilts. Colonel Reed was also there, and he met her eyes briefly before looking away, partly in shame and partly to acknowledge the other officers who were there. The charismatic and hard charging Lieutenant Colonel Viktor Rommel, descendent of the famous WWII tank commander. It was only fitting that he was in charge of the EEF Armored Cavalry Regiment. Then there was the short and stocky Colonel Josef Sarkov, who had started his career as a Russian fighter pilot, and produced several brilliant essays on the subject of using air assets to the best of their ability. He was the architect behind using two high-speed multi-purpose aircraft on the Tree of Souls mission, rather than using a large and slow air armada as Colonel Miles Quaritch did. Sarkov was in charge of all Air Force squadrons on Pandora, and had been wildly successful thus far in striking high priority targets. All four officers had their own junior officer aides, and he looked over all of them with a sharp eye.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am sure that all of you are well aware of the developing situation. There is an army of Na'vi warriors gathering on the plains one hundred and thirty-two miles to our southwest. Their numbers are at about one hundred thousand at the moment, though satellite surveillance has revealed that there are even more warriors arriving from distant settlements. Our satellites have also revealed what appears to be mobile anti-aircraft batteries amidst their ranks. Thus far there only appear to be twenty millimeter, thirty millimeter, and fifty millimeter batteries, but Mister Sully has been going through great pains to deploy tarpaulins that hide certain sections of his formations, so we can't be certain that they don't have other weapons that they wish to keep as a surprise.

"While Colonel Sarkov would no doubt be able to inform you that while our aircraft do have the ability to strike their army from outside of their anti-aircraft defenses, the bombs used would not be extremely accurate, and it would be a waste of overall munitions. Therefore, I wish to use our forces in a surgical strike." He walked towards the front of the room, where a large map flickered to life. One of the more useful items in the room, it was updated every five minutes by satellite. Presently, it showed the Na'vi army, as well as the surrounding one hundred miles of land. "I would like for Colonel Reed and Major Randall to move in and dig in here," he said, motioning to an area that was slightly raised from the land around it, about eighty miles from the Na'vi forces. "Unmanned drone aircraft have already extensively scouted the area, and this is the best area to dig in. _Lef_-tenant Rommel, you will have your forces perform a raid against their lines in an effort to draw their forces into a chase." Blue unit markers appeared, not only showing where Rommel was to attack, but also where Reed and Randall were to station their forces.

"Our long range weapons are to be used to knock out their AAA batteries so that our aircraft, on standby thirty miles to the rear, can come in and perform close air support. While we will be unable to airlift in our MLRS units, our one-oh-five and one-fifty-five millimeter howitzers will be airlifted into a forward artillery base here, ten miles to the rear of our forward positions. They will have anti-aircraft pieces and a small detachment of infantry for protection. For our reserves, I would like to have Captain Burns and his Special Forces standing by as our quick reaction force. Should a hole develop in our lines or if a unit gets cut off, they will be the ones to go in for the rescue. Once the Na'vi anti-air assets have been removed, our attack aircraft will come in and break the Na'vi attack. Once the Na'vi fall back, we will NOT pursue. This is a dedicated raid, not a permanent attack. I only wish to destroy some of their more powerful defensive weapons and to show them our resolve. If we overextend ourselves, we may end up being routed, and since the majority of our forces will be conducting this raid, we can not afford to make any mistakes. Are there any questions?" There was silence from those assembled. "Right. All details will be available on your datapads. You lot need to draw up battle plans and submit them by the end of tomorrow evening. This operation _will_ take place no later than oh-eight hundred four days from now. The Na'vi will still be far enough away from the area where Reed and Randall will be for the operation to work. Sarkov, I need you to continue to strike their supply lines and troop clusters as best you can. You are all dismissed."

Immediately, the four officers turned to one another and began to talk as they figured out what companies went where, and who was expected to do what. Treleaven left the room, content to let his officers do what they were trained to do. It would not be long now to the first true battle of the war, and he found himself in a state of sick apprehension. There was little that he could do besides trust in his officers and his soldiers. They were some of the best out there, and they would not fail him. Now, he only had to not fail them...


	11. Dulce Et Decorum Est

**AN- Holy cheese grater, batman! It's has been far, far too long since I've updated this story, and I do apologize for that. Not only was I super busy at Fort Dix for my annual training, but this is my junior year of college, so it's been quite busy in that part of my life as well. Nonetheless, I have no excuse. I think that part of the issue was that I was trying to figure out how to write a chapter in Harrison's POV, and the Trudy's before getting to the actual fight, and that was throwing up a huge writer's block for me. So, eventually, I said screw it. This chapter has multiple POVs, and the next chapter will follow suit.**

**I'd like to ask for more reviews than I've been getting. I mean, I know that I haven't updated in forever, but the last few chapters have barely pulled in any reviews at all, and it kinda makes me feel like you guys aren't really interested in this story anymore, which is always a not good feeling for a writer to have. I've got a lot of story alerts and story favorites off of this story, so I know people like it, but reviews really make my day better. I reply to them all, so if you have questions, concerns, or comments, I'm willing to talk about it. I've actually made a few real life friendships because of a review reply...wow, that makes me sound like I'm asking for friendship, haha. I'm fine in the friends category, but I'm not like some authors who just blow off reviews. I take great enjoyment out of seeing what people think about my work and how they think I can improve. So please, read, enjoy, and review this chapter of my humble work of fanfiction.**

DULCE ET DECORUM EST...

Her first live engagement. It was one thing to attack a base with minimal defenses in a lightning fast raid, but this was going to be a full out engagement. Lieutenant Storch glanced about the plains that the air armada was flying over, her mouth dry. It was the day before the actual engagement, but all military forces participating in the actual fighting was being flown out now. Around a thousand infantry total, plus the remaining three hundred soldiers manning various vehicles, such as tanks, infantry fighting vehicles, the Scorpions and Samsons, and the multi-purpose and support aircraft. Pretty much every soldier who could fight was out here. A skirmish? Bullshit, this was a set battle. It annoyed her that her troops weren't going to in the front lines, but instead held in reserve. Oh, she understood, and at a separate level even appreciated, the logic behind holding your best soldiers in reserve. After all, a unit in danger of being overrun generally becomes the target of heavy enemy attack. Those enemies expect their enemy to be shell-shocked and routing, and if reinforcements _do_ arrive, those reinforcements are generally not good enough to be frontliners, so when the soldiers that come to the rescue fight harder and meaner than anyone else in the field, the tide can turn.

Her platoon's Samsons set down in the staging area hidden behind the small ridge where soldiers were already digging in, and they all disembarked rapidly, knowing that the Samsons had to return to base to refuel and pick up another group of soldiers. The ferrying of all the soldiers, vehicles, and supplies would last well into the night, she knew. However, right now they had a job to do. "Sergeant Tan, have the platoon set up hasty fighting positions in our staging area point, and then regroup with me, Sergeant Nakamura, and Specialist Floyd on the top of the crest," she ordered briskly, referring to SSG Hojo Nakamura, the platoon Field Artillery Forward Observer and SPC Michael Floyd, her Radio Telephone Operator. Tan nodded, and set to work as the two soldiers she had named rallied on her and they made the trek up the small rise. They reached the small observation post being built at the highest point of the ridge, and they begin to take notes and videos. Already soldiers were out in the distance setting up target reference points, stakes camouflaged on one side and with a number and an infrared strobe on the other. Not only could they be used to judge exactly how far away the enemy were, but also artillery could be called in with the numbers in mind. For example, she thought to herself as a refresher, if they were massed right..._there_...I would call in for an artillery strike fife-zero mils left of tango-romeo-papa fower.

Tan came jogging up the slope, joining the command group of the platoon. His eyes and face were expressionless as he scanned the vast plains before them. "Caltrops?" he asked, nodding towards soldiers out in the waist high grass who were taking things out of buckets and casting them behind them as they made their way back towards the human lines.

"Well, the enemy don't wear shoes," she responded academically as she pulled up a diagram of the planned positions for the upcoming battle. It looked like the EEF had the left half of the formation, with the tanks acting as the left flank. They were mobile and armored enough to react to any attack, and the Na'vi were large enough that the main guns on the tanks could track them as viable targets. The radar guided heavy machine guns would also come into play. Hell, the anti-aircraft vehicles attached to the armored cavalry alone could mess up Na'vi infantry, though they were likely to be busy with the Banshees. The RDA, however...they controlled the right half, and they had some of those AMP suits to hold their flank, but it might not be enough. "Plan to be used in support of the RDA side of the house. They are veterans, yes, but they aren't as fresh, and have been out here a lot longer. Plus...I don't know how much discipline they actually have." Tan nodded his agreement, and they continued to make notes as dusk slowly fell.

xxxXXXxxx

Lt. Colonel Viktor Rommel stood on the commander's seat of his tank so that his torso was well out of the boxy turret of his tank, which looked like an odd mixture of the American M1A2 Abrams, the British Challenger, and the German Leopard Mk. 2 of the 21st Century, with some accents of the old Russian T-90 thrown in for good measure. It operated off of a turbine engine that used liquid hydrogen as a fuel through a process that he could recite but that he didn't fully understand, and it had a 120mm smoothbore main gun, two 12.7mm HMGs, and one 8mm GPMP. He knew that his tank could also convert standard water into fuel, but that took time, so fuel trucks were still a necessity for tank operations. He looked around him, at his little army spread around him. Ohhh, if only his ancestor had tanks such as these! That terrible war would have turned out differently, had that been the case. He shook his head, and did a quick count. Yes, perfect, _sehr gute_! Forty-two tanks, twenty-four IFVs, and twelve AAA vehicles, half of them armed with 20mm Vulcan cannons, the other half with radar operated missiles. Nearly three hundred personnel, though the sheer bulk of the men that he needed meant that he had needed to draw soldiers from the RDA, and he was glad when he heard that those soldiers had acclimated well. Armored Cavalry meant attack, and attack is what the RDA wanted to do the most. Now it was their chance.

Even though he had so much power at his command, he knew that it was nothing compared to what he should have. Already the tanks and other vehicles were being made, but he only had a third of his command. A cavalry regiment should have more than one hundred tanks, more than seventy IFVs, and more than thirty support vehicles, as well as their own self-propelled artillery. Unfortunately, it would take years before his entire command was assembled, as he knew it was with the other branches of the EEF. The Air Force was closest to being completed, and was operating wonderfully. However, even though he'd receive another third of his command in only two-and-a-half months, it would take even longer for the rest of the tank crew members and the rest of the infantry to arrive. The price of fighting at the end of a five year long supply line. However, if they could win enough fights and keep the Na'vi at bay, it would be his son who was commanding tank units to victory in the future. It made him sad that he would never see native Earth again, but he had made the choice willingly, as had everyone else. Pandora was their home now.

"Sir, heat signatures at the twelve o'clock, distance six hundred meters...ah, there's a lot of them, sir," came the voice of his gunner, Staff Sergeant Ernst Giering.

"As is to be expected, sergeant," he replied calmly, lifting his binoculars to peer through the fog that cut visibility down to five hundred meters. He couldn't have asked for better concealment for this first strike. All his tanks had HEAT shells loaded, and the IFVs in his command stood ready with their 30mm cannons. "Prepare to fire once we have visual contact. All tracks will commence firing after my vehicle has fired the initial shot," he said clearly into his radio. An order that everyone had already received after getting the briefing last night, as well as the order to withdraw in an organized manner, continuing to fire until they were out of their forty-five main gun rounds. If the meteorological reports were accurate, this fog should break within the next forty minutes, and they'd be able to aim at individual targets up to four thousand meters away rather than shoot at targets within five hundred meters.

His tank crew waited in tense silence as time slowly ticked by, and finally he saw flickers of movement, ghostly shapes far out in the fog. He raised his binoculars, and peered out into the lightening mists, and sure enough, the lead elements of the Na'vi army, scouts, and they were mounted on direhorses. More and more of them appeared out of the fog, and he smirked to himself. He keyed his radio. "Gunner, battle sight, mounted cavalry!" He watched as the main gun raised a little and began to slowly traverse to the left as it tracked the Na'vi warrior, a process completely computerized. All the gunner had to do was bounce the targeting laser off of the chest of the oncoming direhorse, and the fire control computer did all the rest.

"Loader, up!" Now he knew that his loader was ready to load the next round, and was clear of the cannon's significant recoil. He waited however, waited until he could see several dozen scouts and the lead elements of the main body. Sloppy...scouts should be well ahead of the main force, so that when they got hit, the main force had enough distance to mobilize the counter-attack without coming under direct fire. Which was precisely what he was doing, twenty miles in front of the EEF lines. There...now enough of them were out in the open, within visual sight.

He dropped down inside of the turret, activating the remote control for his tank's 12.7mm machine gun, aiming it at a small cluster of Na'vi soldiers on foot about forty meters behind the Na'vi scout line. "Fire!" he ordered, and his gunner responded instantly.

"On the way!" There was a dull reverberating bang, and the tank jerked back on its shocks, and Rommel watched with grim satisfaction as the HEAT shell exploded on impact, the direhorse possessing enough mass and density that it might as well have been a truck or a lightly armored APC of IFV. Forty-one other shells screamed down range, either making direct contact with their targets or hitting the earth around them, still doing enough damage to maim or kill. The IFVs began to fire as well, the 30mm shells tearing into individual Na'vi or into direhorses, and he watched as the Na'vi warriors first tried to mount a quick counter attack, but the damage was too fast, too sudden, and they fell back into the mists.

"Cease fire, cease fire!" he ordered over the command network, and the sound of cannon fire stopped quickly. He didn't want the Na'vi to know that they could see through mist and smoke and darkness with their thermal sights. Let them think that they could hide for a little while longer. "All tracks, retreat to Phase Line Bravo." With a nearly simultaneous growl, all the tanks, IFVs, and other vehicles started their engines and began to back away towards the next planned line of engagement. The next fight would last longer, they could feel it in their bones...

xxxXXXxxx

Jake Sully had been overseeing the loading of one of the many improvised chow wagons that had been an entirely new concept to the Na'vi when the echoes of that unmistakable sound floated back to him through the early morning mist. The dull and heavy boom of a tank's main armament, and the less heavy but no less deadly rhythmic cracks of an IFV's smaller cannon. He started, looking towards the front of his army, never expecting to hear those sounds on Pandora. A whirlwind of thoughts and concerns overcame him. Were they near the enemy base? No, that was impossible, scouts on banshees had regularly patrolled this place. Were they under full attack? No...no, he didn't think so. There was no sound of incoming artillery, no small arms fire, no sound of close air support. Whatever was happening, it wasn't a full on assault. Their scouts versus his scouts? That was a fight he'd lose, his scouts weren't properly armed for any action against armored cavalry. The machine guns that he'd equipped his scouts with could pose a risk even to AMP suits, but against tanks? _Why the __**hell**__ did they had __**tanks**_? "Get the anti-aircraft batteries online!" he shouted, and his order was echoed almost immediately as the Na'vi around him burst into action, moving to find their combat leaders or simply moving towards the fighting. Not that they find anything...the cannon fire had already stopped, and if he strained his ears hard enough, he could hear the sound of motors moving away from him. It had been a lightning quick raid. A reminder to him that the human knew precisely where he was, and that they could hit them whenever and wherever they wanted?

One of his scouts came riding through the throngs of Na'vi warriors, her arm bright and wet with her own blood, and she held it awkwardly to her side. "Toruk makto!" she cried out, "The enemy, they are ahead, in great squatting boxes! We saw them in the mist, too distant and blurred by the fog to see exactly what they were. We thought that they might have been ceremonial boulders laid down by a tribe of antiquity, but then they belched clouds of fire and smoke and thunder and we started to die...Jakesully, at least fifty of my brothers and sisters didn't return from the scene of attack!" she cried out, eyes bright with pain, anger, and confusion.

A ululating call from the nearest AAA gun...the signal that the skies were clear. Jake sighed, glad that they wouldn't have to endure an airstrike. He turned his attention to the scout as his captains began to arrive from various locations within the army. "I have heard of these machines of war before...they are called tanks, and they are stronger than the AMP suits in armor and in sheer firepower, but they are obsolete in our jungles. Even out on the plains, we will be able to destroy them with the weapons we assembled in Hells Gate. I was not expecting their presence, and so we saw fifty of our own fall to their evil machinery. But next time, we will be ready, and we will destroy them." He nodded towards the healers' area. "Rest now, and see to your wounds. You have done well in telling me these things."

The scout nodded, and dismounted her direhorse painfully before limping towards the healers who were already preparing bandages and poultices. No doubt they'd find more wounded once they got up to the site of the ambush. Hopefully not too many dead. If they took too many casualties without even killing a single human, the cost in morale might be impossible to pay. The destruction of the Tree of Souls was bad enough. Once more Jake had to admit to feeling a grudging respect for General Treleaven. He and his combat commanders were evidently both skilled and experienced, and willing to try new things. Simply bringing tanks on Pandora showed this, as well as how they were employed. Yes, the tanks would be worthless in the jungle, but on the plains they would be unmatched. A tank's main gun had a range of four thousand meters...two-and-a-half _miles_. None of the weapons that he had possessed that sort of range. Yes, his warriors had enough numbers to swarm the tanks, and use their newer weapons to destroy them, but to get in range would cost them greatly in numbers. Hopefully the tanks were only a warning, though his commander's instincts told him that that wasn't likely. They would have hit him at night, after they had stopped for sleep. Hit them and disappeared into the darkness before he could organize a response. Hitting them just as they were starting to move...he had the feeling that it was going to be a very long day for his army.

"Your orders, Toruk Makto?" It was Ney'tiri. He started at the slightly distant way that she had addressed him, wondering why she saw the need to address him that way. Then he realized, it wasn't distance, it was adulation. She was seeking comfort in his status as the Toruk Makto. She hadn't experienced tactics like this. Her previous wartime engagements were relatively limited, and had always been focused around high priority targets on both sides of the conflict. To have something show up, kill and wound fifty of their warriors, and then disappear must be unsettling to her...unsettling to ALL the Na'vi. He needed to ground them.

Even though he didn't feel at all confident, he puffed out his chest, and put on his commander's mask, one of calm certainty. "We have seen some of their new and cowardly tactics," he said, addressing the Na'vi leadership around him. "Rather than stay and fight, they only kill a small handful of our warriors and then slink away like beat _nantangs_. We will meet their cowardice with bravery. Move as though you are hunting them, spread out, more than four body lengths between each Na'vi. We will be spread more thinly, but their weapons will be less effective. While our Na'vi warriors on the ground engage the enemy, our Ikran riders will swarm them and hit them where they are weak, on the top of their vehicles. We will show them what it means to fight the brave Na'vi!" He watched as they cried out fiercely and made their separate ways back to their warriors, a decidedly sick feeling in his stomach. Treleaven knew that his people depended largely on the Ikran, and he would have a counter for that. There would be heavy casualties, but hopefully they could destroy some of the human invaders. It was going to be a very long day...

xxxXXXxxx

The thunder of tank guns firing was almost continuous now, and Rommel licked his dry lips as he peered through his tank's electronic sights. The Na'vi were coming in smart this time, spread out so that the tank guns weren't as effective. It was getting close to the time where he would pull back to the relative safety of the ambush site. "Loader, ammo report!" he shouted after the echo of their last shot faded away.

"Twelve rounds left, four LAHATs!" came the muffled reply. Before he could answer, there was a crashing bang as loud as a thunderclap against the side of his tank, and he cursed as he spun around the remote controlled machine gun on top of his turret to engage the team of Na'vi who had just bounced and anti-tank rocket off the side of his vehicle. Sounded like they had hit one of the explosive reactive armor plates, so they were still safe...for now. THAT had been a very unpleasant surprise. The second line of engagement that they had fallen back to was a good one, as all of them were, and the Na'vi had come in hard and fast, to heavy casualties. They had also used their damn banshees to reveal a surprise: they had anti-tank capabilities. While the anti-air vehicles had done well, it wasn't enough. For every banshee killed, it seemed as though two took its place, and they got in close enough to fire their anti-tank rockets. Four tanks and three IFVs were destroyed in that swarm of rockets, and many more were damaged, though none to the point that they couldn't move or fight, thankfully. More than twenty good soldiers killed. At least they had hurt the Na'vi 'air force' badly enough that they hadn't had the ability to repeat the attack, but they didn't have to. Now the Na'vi infantry were maneuvering smart and fast, getting inside of the human kill zones to launch their rockets. At least the sides of their vehicles were stronger than the tops, and though the Na'vi had scored multiple hits, they didn't do all that much damage.

He fired a long fifteen round burst into the group that had just shot his tank, killing them all before checking on the overall position of the Na'vi army. If they got close enough to swarm his tanks, they'd all die, and it was getting close to the time that they needed to fall back. "Gunner, range on those damned anti-aircraft batteries?"

"Farthest one is...seven thousand six hundred meters, sir!"

"Roger," he called back before activating the command frequency. "All tanks, load LAHATs and engage the anti-aircraft capabilities of the Na'vi!" he ordered tersely. The enemy was getting far too close for comfort... "All other tracks, keep them off of our backs!" A chorus of affirmatives answered him, and he swallowed dryly. This was his true task. The Na'vi infantry were good targets, of course, and the banshees doubly so, but his force was the one force capable of taking out the enemy anti-aircraft assets with near pinpoint accuracy. The LAHAT was the Laser Homing Attack munition, and it had a total range of eight thousand meters, twice as far as the standard tank shell, largely due to the fact that it was actually a semi-active laser homing anti-tank guided missile that could be fired out of a tank's main gun. Sully was wisely keeping his anti-air assets more than four thousand meters away, out of the effective range of his tanks, had he not had the LAHAT. "Gunner, battle sights, triple-A battery!"

"Loader up!"

"FIRE!"

"On the way!" That beautiful reverberating bang, and he watched as the shell streaked downrange before it impacted with the farthest AAA battery, turning the deadly piece of machinery into a ball of fire, a scene repeated across the breadth and width of the massive army, and it took two more volleys to take out all the visible batteries.

"All vehicles, fall back to allied lines. Our job is done, now it's everyone else's turn." Almost eagerly, his battle line sprang away from the fight, and took off towards the ridge now barely visible in the distance, maybe four miles distant. God help the Na'vi if they follow them. Swinging the remote controlled machine gun around so that it pointed at the blue natives who were howling for his blood, he fired off a few more bursts to keep their heads down. As he watched the Na'vi die with no hint of fear or regret on their big blue faces, he suddenly remembered a poem written in the First World War. "Dulce et decorum est," he muttered to himself softly as the Na'vi stopped trying to charge after the retreated vehicles, "pro patria mori..."


	12. Theirs But To Do And Die

**AN: Okay, so, the next chapter. Woo! 6,831 words on MW word. A lot of pages. I'm pretty glad that I could get this one out this quickly, but I felt like I owed you all one. I know that the chapter point of view cycle has been pretty messed up, but Harrison will be the main POV in the next one, and hopefully things can get back on track. This is, of course, Storch's actual first time leading troops into a serious fight, and all that that ensues. As a result, this chapter is somewhat Storch-centric, but she seems to be pretty popular, so it shouldn't be _that_ bad of a read, lol.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I responded to all the ones that I could, just like I said I would, and the ones that I couldn't respond to sorry, but if you want a reply, feel free to sign in. I'm always willing to have a talk. If you were in cahoots with all the other readers, you'd find out that review replies very often have author insights into the story, characters, and stuff like that, so it just might be worth your while to sign in. :-)**

**Anyway, as always, read, enjoy, and please review! You guys are great, I love ya! **

THEIRS BUT TO DO AND DIE

"Holy sweet Jesus," Storch breathed as she watched the oncoming enemy army. The army seemed to grow and grow until it covered the ground like a rippling blue tide, coming to crush the thin human line. She knew that the enemy only had about ten times their number, which was not that much, considering the human superior air support, artillery cover, and overall technology, but that didn't stop the flutter of fear that she felt deep in her belly. She could see the last firing line that the tanks formed, and when she brought up her binoculars, she could see the Na'vi making attempt after attempt to destroy the tanks, the flare of rockets being fired, the flashes and plumes of dirt when the rockets exploded, the smoke of the battlefield obscuring the scene of the fighting. She knew that the Tactical Operations Center was in a state of controlled chaos, radio transmissions crackling through the speakers as the commanders sorted out what was happening and the necessary steps to take.

Four miles. Were they only four miles out? The distant sound of battle crackled and thudded in her ears, the noise of the many explosions reaching the dug in humans well after they could be seen happening. She noticed suddenly that her knees were quivering slightly, and she focused hard, forcing them to stop. It was one thing to think that you were ready for a battle, but to see the massive enemy army stretch towards you with a plodding certainty was a whole different matter. "There they go," she commented with a false lightness as the armor unit fell back, machine guns providing suppressive fire, a vehicle occasionally stopping to fire back towards the Na'vi. Her binoculars were powerful enough to count the vehicles, and she frowned when she realized that more than ten vehicles were missing, a bad blow. The vehicles could be replaced, but the individuals manning them couldn't.

"Ma'am, suddenly I'm happy that we aren't going to be in the front lines," Nakamura muttered. He gestured with his rifle towards the Na'vi forces. "However, if Mister Sully uses his troops right, we just might have ourselves a problem. He can set a fixing force and have the rest of his army swing around and hit us on the flanks, enveloping us, and crushing us..." He paused. "_Jesus_ there's a lot of them!"

The sound of jet engines overheard, and they all looked up to see their little air force go screaming overhead. She could see the ordnance being released from the supersonic bombers, could see the massive explosions as the two thousand pound bombs hit the earth, a long path of destruction along the length of the enemy for each of the bombers. They peeled off as the AC-150 began a high orbit and began to engage, firing with all of its guns, from the 105mm cannon all the way down to the 25mm gatling gun. "And now there are less of them," she shot back. "Come on, we gotta get ready. Within two hours, we just might be real busy."

xxxXXXxxx

Jake cursed the aircraft. Even more so than the artillery that he knew was waiting ahead of them. The heavy bombers had carved out two huge swathes in his army, and they had been close enough to his position that he still couldn't hear out of his left ear, and the blood of a warrior who had had his head scooped off by a piece of shrapnel had splashed on his chest. There was a constant droning from the big four engine bird in the sky, and he recognized the outline of the AC-150J. That was his biggest threat right now, and while his warriors did have anti-air assets in the form of shoulder fired rockets, he had nothing that could touch the aircraft that hung over them, pounding his units into oblivion. He knew that the AC-150 could carry a _lot_ of ammo, and that they weren't firing as quickly as they could right now. They were waiting, waiting for the fight that was up ahead. They wanted his army to continue onward, towards that low ridge he could see in the distance, the only damned high ground around. They'd be dug in there, nice and deep, just waiting for him to come in, fat and stupid. Artillery shields, kill zones, anti-personnel mines, interlocking fields of fire, quick reaction forces, those damned tanks that were probably rearming even as he watched a stream of tracers rip through a small group of direhorse cavalry.

They couldn't win. And the casualties that they'd suffer trying to get to the human lines would be horrendous. Not worth it. "Sound the retreat!" he shouted out, ignoring the shocked faces of the Na'vi around him. That was not what they expected at all. They expected their Toruk Makto to lead them to another glorious victory. This...this was neither defeat nor victory. They destroyed a number of the enemy vehicles, did brave battle, and the scouts on ikrans reported an enemy force ahead on the small hill, far less than they had...why not attack? Even as the rest of the army began to pull back in bewildered acquiescence, one of the Olo'eyktan decided that even if his Toruk Makto did not want to fight, he would. He was in charge of one thousand pa'li cavalry, and their speed would carry them to victory! He cried out a long ululating call, and his warriors responded eagerly.

For Jake, that moment proved to be a catalyst. Hearing the call and seeing a tenth of his army head towards the ridge produced a moment of sheer panic that he stamped down only through a sheer force of will. Okay. The Na'vi weren't entirely under his control. Not the end of the world. Just the end of this battle. "Jesus fucking _Christ_!" he snarled before pointing to his aides. "You, you, and you, get the rest of the Olo'eyktan, and bring them here, _now_! You, spread the word amongst the Omaticaya, their Olo'eyktan says that the time is now. You, get to the Ikran riders, and get them mobilized. We may need them to turn the flank!" The other Olo'eyktan rode up on direhorses. He quickly handed out radios to each of them. "I will instruct you through these! Go, go to your troops, we have a battle to fight!" They took the radios and made their separate ways back to their units, and Jake had to fight the urge to hurl. This was it, his fight, and he didn't want to fight it. "Okay, this is what we need to do," he started as he keyed the mike...

xxxXXXxxx

The Olo'eyktan looked around at his fellow pa'li riders, and he shouted out with joy. They were now going at a full on gallop, the human held ridge hurtling closer. He didn't know that the direhorse could run at ninety-five kilometers per hour, almost sixty miles per hour, and he wouldn't have cared either way. All he knew was that he could _see_ the Sky People running from spot to spot, being down as though they were talking to the ground...funny, there were a lot less of them than he thought...maybe only fifty or sixty that he could see running aro-

His pa'li gave a bellowing cry, one that he mirrored. Through their bond, his mount's pain felt like his own, and he had to fight the urge to check his feet for whatever had hurt his mount's feet so bad. Now that they were stopped, he could see the metal shapes in the high grass, one point going straight up, three resting on the ground. Other riders were experiencing the same thing that he did, and their charge lost its momentum rapidly. He looked up to curse the Sky People for their devilry, just in time to see the entire ridge light up as though there were many lights winking on and off. Sky People, in holes in the ground, waiting in ambush. He didn't know that three snipers armed with 12.7mm rifles had already zeroed on him, focusing on his extensive face and body paint and elaborate headdress that made him different from all the other Na'vi. As tracers snapped into his line, he didn't know that the senior sniper claimed him, didn't know that he caressed the trigger, didn't know that the heavy round was on its way.

He didn't feel anything but a jarring thud against his chest six inches below his neck as the heavy round punched through his sternum, the shock liquefying his lungs and heart before the now deformed projectile exploded out his back, severing his spine. He was dead before he even began to topple of his pa'li. He was dead several moments before the survivors of his unit heard an odd thud from the sky before a loud scream louder than the loudest banshee tore through the air. They didn't recognize it as the sound of incoming artillery from the four 155mm cannons and eight 105mm cannons committed to this fight. They realized that that sound heralded death when the artillery began to rain amongst them, shattering bodies and ripping limbs off of torsos. A surviving junior leader realized that they had to move or die, and cried out the order to advance. To their credit, they got close enough to fire upon the human lines with their bows and the odd gun, though they didn't manage to wound any of the Sky People. What they did manage to do was keep the human guns and attention on them while the rest of their army redeployed for the upcoming battle. Though their tribe suffered heavily, they would be lauded in songs for generations to come, even as their leader was forever scorned for what he did...

xxxXXXxxx

Major Shaun Sigona whistled softly as he looked down at the battlefield. "Viper flight, prepare to go in for the rescue," he ordered as he monitored the radio transmissions from the ground. The TOC was undoubtedly extremely busy, getting calls from the commanders on the ground, finding out what they needed, and then calling in artillery or patching the front line leaders directly to air support. He could see the four fighters from Cobra flight flying out of the battle area, forming up, and flying back towards the Heaven's Pass. Now it was his flight's turn.

"Viper two, roger."

"Viper three, standing by."

"Viper four, ready to rock and roll."

"Stand by, and await further orders from the TOC," he ordered, bringing his jet in a high orbit around the fighting. Yeah, he could see targets down there that he could attack, but it was better for his four jets to be used by those on the ground, who could read the flow of battle. As he waited, he watched the EEF's four attack aircraft go to town, firing rockets, dropping cluster munitions and bombs, and firing their 30mm gatling guns. While his jet was the obvious descendent of the F/A-18F, the attack aircraft were almost identical to their ancestor, the A-10 Thunderbolt II. Yes, the A-15C Hammerhead was a slightly better design, had hardened electronics, etc, etc. Didn't change the fact that it was pretty much the same damn plane. He wondered how the Na'vi were reacting to that main gun...when it fired, the damn thing sounded like a dragon roaring, and _had_ to be demoralizing for their opponents.

He winced as a swarm of rockets flew up to try and touch one of the A-15s that was firing a long burst from its cannon, and cursed when one managed to make contact, a bright and ugly flash right where the left engine used to be, and the jet wobbled viciously before pulling up and flying back towards base. It might take a month to repair that damage. Another reminder to be careful. While the A-15 could take that kind of blow, that would have destroyed his jet. The rockets weren't homing, at least, not to the extent of human made weapons, but it did look like they had some guidance, maybe by wire control. Whatever it was, he had to be careful...they all did.

His radio crackled to life, and a stressed voice sounded in his ear, flavored by screams, gunfire, and explosions in the background. "Enemy advancing along attack axis bravo-sierra two, coordinates echo-papa-fife-fower-aight-tree-seven-one-niner-six, how copy, over!" Not even a question, an exclamation. A chatter of heavy automatic weapons fire. "Things are getting hairy, these guys have guns! Need that air, now!"

"On the way," he coolly answered, calm and collected, the voice of a savior to the poor grunt on the ground. He pulled a sharp dive, rolling the jet so that it was heading towards the given coordinates. He could see it, a line of blue moving closer to the human lines, moving like trained soldiers, half laying down suppressive fire while the other half bounded forward, and Na'vi could move _fast_. "Darlington, let's use some mark seventy-sevens," he called over his shoulder, getting a terse roger. Just like training, hold the jet steady, the targeting reticle just in front of the Na'vi line. There was a jerking clunk...a pause...and another clunk, and he pulled away, looking in his rearview mirror as the bombs exploded in linear blossoms of fire that consumed the Na'vi attackers, maybe two platoon's worth. He swiveled his head around, noting how the other three jets in Viper flight were each hitting separate targets, joined by the Hammerheads, and some air-to-surface artillery fire, courtesy of the AC-150J. Despite all that, despite how bad it must be for the Na'vi, the human lines were getting hit hard, and from what he could see, it wasn't nearly as much of a one sided battle as he had expected. Another call over the radio, and he bit his lip nervously as he brought the Jolly Roger around. _Come on, boys, hang in there. You got this_...

xxxXXXxxx

Jake was pacing back and forth in the closest thing he had to a command post, listening to the reports come in over the radio or through runners. He was surrounded by the wounded and the dying of his army, probably the one thing saving him from an airstrike or an artillery barrage. The heaviest of the fighting raged a mile from his position, where his warriors were trying their hardest to beat millennia of technological advantage, and he watched with bitter eyes as the aircraft that he could barely touch ravaged his lines. Yes, his Na'vi were spreading out, and that alone cut the effectiveness of the jets and artillery down by nearly fifty percent, but the humans had countered that by attacking the main body of his army less and instead creating a shield of air support and artillery fire that his soldiers _had_ to pass through, and that shield was preventing his Na'vi from getting close enough to the human lines to do damage. Every time that he tried to send Ilran riders to try and turn the flank, they were met with fierce SAM, flak, AAA battery, and air-to-air missile fire. He remembered just what a missile fired into a cluster of Ikrans could do, and it was not a good sight. So now, he could only save those brave bastards for when he had an opening.

He glanced up at the sky, surprised at how much time had passed. Six or seven hours of this fight, and though there had been a scant few hours where both sides had rocked back on their heels and stopped shooting for a short period, the majority of the time had been spent in deadly contention. His army was still highly motivated, for the most part, or they were still willing to fight. The moans and cries of the many wounded around him were a constant reminder of the price of that willingness to continue the battle. He cleared his mind, and brought the binoculars to his eyes, scanning the line of battle. He began to sketch out the current battle line in the dirt at his feet. The human army was arranged like a bracket or an elongated 'C' that his force was currently running straight into, giving the humans massive interlocking fields of fire, but the Na'vi had interior lines of communication. He could shift forces from one spot on the front lines of fighting to another spot faster than his opponents could, but thus far he hadn't been able to make optimal use of that fact.

With the sheer sizes of his forces, he should have been able to force the flank, envelop the human lines, and crush them that way, but they were very serious about keeping him from doing that. To his right and the enemy left, the human flank was held by those damned tanks, and they could extend the flank and hammer his forces into submission before they could fully deploy. On his left and the enemy right, AMP suits and a lot of dug in infantry were using infrared sights, smoke rounds from artillery, and antipersonnel mines were giving him hell. And every single time that his forces got close to breaking through, soldiers with blackened visors would appear almost out of nowhere and repel the attack. Already his army was murmuring about the mystical powers of the Black Masks. No matter how close they got to punching through a line, once the Black masks showed up, the assault was repelled with severe prejudice. He remembered the soldiers who had been at Hell's Gate for the parlay and shuddered. Those black visors really were creepy.

Thus: he should be able to turn the flank and crush the human host sitting on top of the hill that was no more than thirty feet high. Just thirty bloody feet! Yes, over a thousand feet long, but it was such a short crest! However, every time he sent out flankers, they were met with heavy artillery fire, air attacks, and mobile human quick reaction forces, and even the most determined attacks faltered in the face of such withering fire. It was no mistake that while the close air support and artillery fire that the humans were using was murderous in the center of his formations, every single bloody time he sent out flanking forces, almost all support fire focused on them. His troops weren't well trained enough to try and do both at the same time, and he lacked the communications ability to even try. His army was getting slaughtered, and though he knew that the humans were suffering casualties too, it wasn't at the same rate, not by a long shot. He would end up losing the battle and most of his soldiers at this rate. Yet, if he tried to retreat, he would have the armored cavalry and the air attacks following after him, heckling him and causing even more damage. There was nothing he could do!

A messenger rode up on a bleeding pa'li, a bandage covering half of his face. "Toruk Makto! News on the left side, we've managed to get in close, within their _artillery_ fire, and my clan leader is moving warriors along the Sky People lines, keeping them down with _suppressive fire_," he said those last words in English, no words in the Na'vi tongue properly expressed the concept, "and we are searching for weak spots to break through." He gestured up towards the left flank, where the sound of gunfire had increased dramatically even as they were talking. "We need help with the attack, Toruk Makto!"

Jake nodded, hope fluttering in his chest. This could be it. "Return to your Olo'eyktan, help is on the way." He turned on his radio. "Omaticaya, your Olo'eyktan speaks! Begin using the _mortars_ and _machine guns_ and _rockets_ as I have taught you, fight well, and keep the enemy cowards attention while we break through their lines like an enraged angtsìkby! All other warriors not currently directly engaged, shift left, and attack!" Slowly, he could see his orders being followed, his army slowly shifting left to attack where he suspected the RDA held. Now was when he would either win or lose the battle, and he could almost see the scales tip in his favor. He could do this...he _could_!

xxxXXXxxx

"Hang it!"

"_Fire_!" The 81mm mortar gave an impressive _shtoompf_! as the mortar crew dropped another round down its tube, and this scene was repeated all across the staging area where all the mortars had been set up, as well as where the casualty collection point and the enemy prisoner of war point had been placed. Storch unscrewed another two quart bottle of water, dumping it over the mortar tube, wincing as the water steamed upon impact. All the mortars were just as hot, almost too hot to touch, and almost hot enough to cook off rounds inside the tube. Another rippling roar as an artillery salvo flew overhead, and the dragon's roar of the A-15's main gun sounded again and again. So far all of her company's platoons had been placed in spots where the human lines had been weakened save for hers, and she was both chomping at the bit to _do_ something, and also terrified that she would be called upon.

"Medic!" someone shouted, and she turned to see two RDA soldiers supporting each other as they ran into the staging area, both of them bleeding.

"We're being overrun!" one of them shouted, panic easy to hear in his voice, and Storch jumped up, even as her radio came on, ordering her to report to the right flank, where a heavy attack was underway. Her mouth instantly went dry.

"Third platoon, on me!" she shouted, and they were suddenly all there, faces invisible behind the polarized lenses. She faltered for a second, confused, scared, unsure of herself, but then she forced herself to calm, breathe, focus. "We are needed on the right flank, the RDA are getting hit, and hit hard." She paused, as more information was relayed to her. "The enemy directly at our center are using heavy small arms, rocket, and mortar fire to tie up the rest of our forces. We are the only reinforcements available. We can expect mortar fire, machine gun fire, bow fire, and close enemy contact once we reach the lines." Rather than shake her up more, this information actually only served to pacify her fears as her training kicked in. She couldn't think about how her men and women could very well die following her. She only had to focus on what was going to happen if the human lines failed. They'd all die. "Platoon column, squad column, fire team wedge, as practiced."

They moved quickly, efficiently. First squad was point, followed by second squad, followed by the platoon headquarters unit, followed by the weapons squad, with third squad pulling rear security. She waved her arm forward, and they all began to move, spread out...an occasional mortar shell landed on this side of the ridge, random, and not aimed, but still possibly deadly. They moved quickly, at a light jog, for they all knew that they were needed immediately. The sound of guns grew louder, as well as the sounds of explosions and shouts and screams, and her heart began to beat faster. This was it. Her baptism by fire. They crested the ridge, and squad by squad, they hit the dirt, holding fire, waiting for her order. She sprinted up the short rise, going to a knee as she reached the highest point. Her right hand trembled, and she gripped her rifle's pistol grip hard to hide it. "Jesus," she breathed softly enough that her radio didn't register it as loud enough to broadcast.

It was worse than she expected. She hadn't yet seen the results of the battle, save for the wounded brought back to the CCP, but this...this was horrifying. Howling hordes of tall, blue-skinned natives hurled themselves against veritable walls of leads...walls that were developing cracks. AMP suits were becoming death traps as they drew more and more small arms and bow fire, and the caltrops must have been policed up, because the Na'vi attacking the lines weren't slowing down at all. She looked down at her feet, where some defensive fighting position had been dug, and they were largely abandoned saved for a handful of wounded soldiers, a necessity as the human lines had needed to stretch out to meet the enemy advances towards their flanks. There was no cover out where most of the fighting was taking place. The roar of pitched battle washed over her, overwhelming for a second, and then...it was silent. She was no longer trembling, her palms stopped sweating, and she knew what she needed to do.

"Weapons squad, here, provide heavy covering and suppressive fire while I move the main body to there," she ordered briskly as she pointed where she was going, "and help out those poor RDA bastards. Nakamura, we have priority of fires from half the artillery and half the air. The RDA have lost comms with support, I need you to lay down heavy support between the attacking Na'vi and the rest of their force...decapitate the attack, we'll handle the rest. First, second, third, you're on me, let's move!"

They ran back a little before swinging out to the right, keeping low, the grass just barely high enough to mask their movements. To her left, her weapons squad started to open fire, seven round bursts from the 8mm machine guns, heavy cracks from the anti-material rifles, and the lighter crackles from the loaders and assistant gunners on the machine gun teams. Though only nine men, that squad could do a lot of damage on its own, and would certainly catch to attention of the Na'vi. Which was good, things were starting to get hairy around her. She was running across more and more wounded and dead humans, and she started to see the Na'vi more clearly as they bounded forward, hitting what was left of the human line before falling back. Bullets began to snap around her ears just as the first artillery screamed in, close enough that her instincts screamed at her to drop to the ground. "First squad, your anchor point is that downed AMP suit!" she shouted over the sound of incoming as she pointed at the smoking suit. It looked like it had taken a slew of gunfire and a few rockets. SSG Winters nodded, and took his men at the double time. She turned to address the two remaining squads when she noticed that the sound of artillery was of a different pitch than usual, and sounded louder.

"Incoming!" someone shouted, and another answered back with a throaty, "Get down, hit the deck!" She threw herself down, fingers clawing at the dirt as the mortar shells fell amongst them. _Krumph...krumph...kr-k-KRUMPH-krum-__**KRUMPH**__-krumph...krumph_. The earth seemed to bounce and tremble with each explosion from the enemy mortar attack, and dirt rained down on her. She paused for a heartbeat, two heartbeats, three, and was on her feet.

"Casualties?" she shouted, already checking her HUD. Sergeant Vanderbilt confirmed what her HUD reported, two lightly wounded, just scratches. "Second and third, follow me!" Again they were up and running, and when she looked to her left, she could see the handiwork of her weapons squad and first squad, Na'vi taking fire and just as quickly returning it, reacting to the human defense fluidly. She could admire them for that. She could hear Nakamura giving clear and concise directions into his radio, and within mere seconds artillery landed on their left, paralleling their movements, and giving them the time they needed to set up, second squad taking shelter in a couple of artillery craters, and third following her to the last knot of still fighting humans. Right now she was too busy to realize it, but later on she would realize just how close the Na'vi had gotten to turning the flank. If she had been ordered to move a mere thirty seconds later, the Na'vi would have realized that there was a large gap between the ridge and the last remaining group, the sole survivors of a company of RDA troopers who were able to still fight. As she, the four others in her platoon leadership team, and the nine soldiers of third squad got into position, buddying up the RDA soldiers in position already, she could see the open looks of relief.

"Sergeant Vanderbilt!" she barked, and the medic hustled over, already getting her aid bag. "See to the wounded as best you can. Once we repel this attack we'll see about getting some medevac birds behind us!" A surge of ululating cries, and a wave of blue surged out of the smoke and dust kicked up by the last artillery strike, no more than one hundred meters away, and she could see that it would crash all along her line, such as it was. She momentarily worried about the gaps between her squads, but it was too late to worry about that. She activated her command frequency and gave the order to open fire before bring her rifle up, and taking careful, aimed shots. She was suddenly grateful for the heavier 8mm round...the RDA troopers around her had to fire bursts to fell the sprinting Na'vi, whereas her soldiers only had to fire once, maybe twice. The only automatic fire from her soldiers came from the automatic riflemen, who had heavier versions of the 8mm rifle, with a heavy barrel and drum magazines for automatic fire. Not dedicated machine guns, like those that she had placed to fire into the Na'vi flank, but good enough, especially now. The grenadiers were also firing as quickly as they could, the small explosions from the 40mm grenades doing as much if not more than the machine guns and automatic rifles to break the charge.

The Na'vi could move fast, she noted with a dry mouth as she stopped aiming as carefully and instead just put rounds downrange into the blue mass howling for her blood. _Don't think, just react_! Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. Click. Empty mag, switch it out, smoothly and fluidly, the result of the thousands of times that she had practiced this move, both in training and on her own. Shoot. Shoot. A hissing snap, and the RDA trooper next to her screamed out, long and gurgling before his cry faded away, and she looked down at his still writhing body, a thick-shifted arrow buried deep in his torso. His pupils were already dilating. Dead. She dropped down further, and continued to shoot as arrows snapped and hissed around her, some sinking into the ground around her, and one tearing her left sleeve, but missing her flesh. Then a burst of tracers flew just over her head and she tried to force herself down even further. A rocket exploded to her left, and another further down the line on her right. Cries for a medic began to fly through the air, and she turned her head in time to see one of her soldiers throw a grenade before catching a bullet in the chest. Her HUD flickered as new data was passed through it, and Private First Class Yonatan Solanas's vitals flat-lined.

She just lost a soldier. More and more injuries were cropping up as the Na'vi got closer and closer, and just when it seemed like they were going to sweep over her soldiers and butcher them, the attack broke, and the Na'vi fell back, some stopping to gather the broken bodies of their comrades, others providing covering fire. A rocket streaked past her and exploded in the fighting position no more than ten meters away, at her four o'clock. A scream from the hole, a scream that didn't fade away, and she saw that Vanderbilt was busy, her hands full with all the other casualties. Knowing her duty, she jumped up and sprinted over to the still smoking fighting position, and slid into it smoothly as bullets began to try and track her form. An RDA soldier, clutching a bloodied leg, rocking back and forth in pain. "Please, ya gotta help!" he cried out through gritted teeth as he looked up at her. Her entire body froze, and his eyes flicked to her nametape before widening, the look of relief quickly being replaced with one of shock and of fear. Corporal Anderson licked chapped lips as his eyes darted back up to her darkened visor, the near panic easily visible in his eyes.

_Rapist! Sadisticmotherfucker! ! DESTROY HIM!_ her emotions screamed, and her hand dropped to her combat knife, undoing the two snaps with well practiced flicks of her thumb. "Oh, God, please don't hurt me!" he shouted, hands letting go of his leg, flying up in a protective gesture, and she scoffed as her logical side beat down her emotions.

"I'm not going to hurt you, soldier," she retorted, keeping her voice level. "I'm helping you." She drew the knife, and cut away his pants from the wounded area before taking out the pressure dressing from his Individual First Aid Kit. Her movements were quick and methodical, and within moments she was tying off the knot on the dressing. "There's still a fight to be had, soldier," she said briskly as she handed him his rifle. "Keep fighting."

His eyes were wide as he accepted the rifle, confusion easy to see on his face. She put him out of her mind as she low-crawled out of his hole and back towards her own, unable to stay in his presence any longer. When she was halfway back to the relative safety of her fighting position, she heard them, the sound of rotors beating the smoke filled sky. That couldn't be right...once it was known just how many rockets and firearms the Na'vi had, all Samsons and Scorpions had been grounded. She rolled partially on her back, and looked up as two Samsons and two Scorpions appeared through the smoke hanging over the battlefield, the door gunners in the Samson firing wildly, and the chin mounted guns on the snarling like buzzsaws, spewing out hundreds of rounds. Unfortunately, there were a lot of Na'vi on the ground, more than the aircraft could kill or even hope to subdue. She watched in horror as rockets leapt from the earth, the firers hidden from her view because of the heavy smoke and dust that obscured the battleground, and lines of tracers rose up to meet the aircraft. The Scorpions took a lot of hits, but they were armored heavily enough that they could peel off and get out of the danger zone. It was the Samsons that suffered the worst.

She watched in horror as bullets tore through the canopy of the first Samson, and copious amounts of blood spattered the inside of the cockpit, spraying against the canopy, and a rocket streaked into the largely empty cargo bay before detonating, tearing the gunner that she could see into half before the entire Samson erupted in a fireball, the wreck landing two hundred meters behind her lines. The second Samson tried to evade, dropping as low to the ground as possible so that it was harder to hit. That tactic didn't save it. A rocket caught the craft on the nose, and it dropped like a rock, crashing into the ground, its rotors flying loose from their holdings, churning into the earth. Instantly her mission changed. There might be survivors in the crash...it had hard, but not hard enough to be necessarily lethal. The Samson was between her and the Na'vi lines.

"Nakamura, get all the artillery and air in support of that bird!" she shouted over her comms. "After the initial volley, get smoke around it!" Nakamura didn't answer, but a line of fire sprouted from the ground on the far side of the crash, followed by the sound of a jet roaring overhead. "Second squad, third squad, on me!" Then she was up and running, sprinting towards the crash, knowing that she was ahead of her troops, and if a Na'vi appeared out of the smoke, she would die. Once the flames started to die down, there was the roar of machine guns ahead, and tracers filled the air around her, buzzing around her like angry hornets, just waiting to find her flesh, to tear it apart. She didn't bother to fire back, not yet, instead continued to haul ass until she reached the crash, second and third right behind her, along with Nakamura, Floyd, Vanderbilt, and Tan. Floyd was on the radio, relaying information to hire, including the casualties that she had suffered. Another soldier had died on the run to the crash, and she didn't have time so see who it was. "Second and third, get a defensive perimeter around this Samson!" she snapped, and the squad leaders took charge of their teams, and got them positioned around the fallen bird as Storch and the other soldiers in her headquarters team forced their way into the crashed Samson.

One of the gunners was dead, his head and arm attached only by the barest strands of flesh. Tan didn't need to be told, he grabbed the dead soldier and pulled him out of the bird. The other was screaming about sharp pain in his left leg, and Vanderbilt produced a full leg splint and set his leg before hefting him up, and moving back towards the relative safety of the RDA fighting position. There were two other soldiers in the cargo bay, and Storch let Floyd and Nakamura see to them as she checked the cockpit. The pilot was dead, and in multiple pieces, and she fought the urge not to throw up as she reached into the soup that was his...her...his? torso and pulled off the pilots dogtags. Then she turned to the other soldier, and blinked in surprise. An RDA Captain.

"Ma'am, the attack is picking up, second and third can't hold!" someone shouted over the radio, and she glanced out the cracked canopy to see swarms of Na'vi assaulting towards the downed Samson, using proper individual movement techniques. They were also heavily armed. She cursed softly before turning towards the Captain.

"Sir, I'm going to get you out of here," she said as calmly as she could. He nodded, and slapped the quick-release for his safety harness, and she grimaced when she noticed that his left leg was gone below the knee, and his right leg was mangled. Quickly, she applied two tourniquets, wishing that she had more time, but bullets were punching through the canopy now, showering her with chipped plastics and shards of metal. Grunting, she heaved the Captain over her shoulder and began to move, getting him out of the cockpit and then out of the bird. Nakamura and Floyd had already started moving their casualties. "Soldiers, fall back!" she cried out in a clear voice, and the sound of fire shifted from individual fire to fire while maneuvering. She was glad to see two soldiers pause to throw thermite and white phosphorous grenades into the downed Samson.

The Captain was heavy. Her knees hurt with every step, and her breaths came in pants as she moved as quickly as she could. There was the dull thuds of the grenades going off, and a sudden sear of heat against her back as the thermite erupted in a fearsome inferno. Airstrikes and artillery barrages were coming in fast and heavy, covering their retreat, but it wasn't enough. Bullets began to snap around her and she winced as they came closer and closer. She could see the RDA soldiers ahead, beckoning for them as well as laying down fire. One took a rocket to the chest and disappeared. She was going to die.

The realization struck her cold, and sapped away her waning strength. She was going to die...there was no way that she could survive the swarm of bullets flying away her. A Na'vi was going to aim for her, and she would die. She grit her teeth, and stepped up the pace, just as a hammer blow caught her in the left calf, and she stumbled, ignoring the pain, not knowing that tears were pouring down her cheeks as she force herself to take a step...another step...another, disregarding the severe pain that she felt every time that her left leg moved. No broken bone, she could still move. She looked up, relieved when she could see the safety of the fighting positions up ahead. She was fifteen meters away! Step. Step. Step.

She was two meters away when the bullet caught her, flinging her to the ground, the Captain rolling into the fighting position that she had been trying to get to.


	13. The Fields Run Red

**AN- Considering that I've also been working on two of my oldest stories, I got this chapter done pretty darn quick. Almost six thousand words in the chapter proper. This is done both in the POV of Harrison and Trudy. Next chapter should have Jake as the main POV. Nothing much else to talk about, other than I've got six minutes to get ready for class before I leave. That's how much I love you guys. Some warnings, this is an emotionally trying chapter with some graphic concepts. What other way could I write a field hospital after a pitched battle?**

**Read, enjoy, and please review! **

THE FIELDS RUN RED

The Samson's rotors thudded against the dense Pandoran air, and Harrison fought the urge to give a low whistle as the bright white aircraft flew over the remains of the battlefield. There were still patches of smoke that hung in the air, acrid and dense. The fighting looked done, however, the humans still holding the ridge that dominated the ground and the Na'vi a mile from the ridge, still a pretty substantial force despite the thousands of casualties that littered the ground that they were flying over. It was odd how one could see how a battle ran from the air. He couldn't tell when certain events actually happened, but it looked like the RDA regulars had been hit by the most Na'vi...the blue-skinned natives were piled high on that flank, at times thick enough to literally blanket the ground. However, there were also a great number of burning AMP suits and a two Samson crashes that he could see. The fact that there were also many rows of poncho covered dead also showed that the Na'vi hadn't fought a bad fight. This might have been a lot closer than it looked like at first glance. The flank that looked like it had been held by the RDA looked worse and worse the closer they came. It looked like the Na'vi had gotten close enough to resort to melee weapons, he noticed as stretcher bearers moved a body that had been split from shoulder to hip. Though the Na'vi didn't cause as much casualties as they could have, if they had managed to break that line, they would have been able to envelop and annihilate the human army. Far too close.

Trudy hadn't said a word from the moment that they first saw the battlefield, though he could see how her mouth was a tight line, and her eyes were likely pissed behind her tinted aviators. Lochman was quiet as well, but still talked as he went through the landing process. Liang hadn't said anything during the entire fight, and now he was looking out the starboard gunner's port, one hand resting on his GPMG. Jackson had turned to him when the battlefield had first come into sight, a triumphant gleam in his eyes, and he had opened his mouth to say something, but Harrison had shot him a sharp glare. Jackson didn't say anything. Lochman hit a couple of switches, and Trudy brought the bird down to the ground at the base of the ridge, the landing surprisingly gentle. The moment that the Samson was completely on the ground, Harrison was moving, skirting around the cargo that filled the Samson's bay almost to bursting. "Liang, Jackson, you're on cadaver duty, report to the field hospital for your assignment," he ordered briskly, and Jackson turned to stare at him in disbelief, but Harrison stared right back at him with cold hard eyes. "It wasn't a request." Hopefully the task of picking up dead human bodies would break through the tough-guy exterior that Jackson was sporting. Hard to be tough and cocky when you realize that that red mush that you're standing in used to be a young woman's head before it got hit by a heavy bullet.

As the two gunners made their way up the hill, a trio came down the hill, and Harrison recognized the Colonel in charge of the infantry from dossier photos he had been given by Treleaven, flanked by two soldiers in special-forces black, including their blacked out visors. He couldn't help but feel slightly frightened by them. He liked seeing the face of the thing fighting him, rather than a dark piece of glass. The three newcomers got on board, and Trudy gave a terse 'ma'am' before she started the liftoff procedure, her voice noticeably cold, but Harrison would have been surprised if Colonel Reed was attentive enough to make note of it. Her eyes had bags underneath them, and the older woman looked exhausted...no doubt that she had been up all night seeing to the preparations, and then subjected to the emotional and mental challenge of running a battle only a few hundred yards away. The Samson lifted and flew over towards the Na'vi army that was visibly setting up pickets and fighting positions for guards. It looked as though the Na'vi leadership was already waiting for them. The Samson covered the mile quickly, and once again Trudy set the bird down with a gentle touch that spoke volumes of her love for her aircraft.

Harrison hopped out of the Samson, closely followed by the two Special Forces infantry who kept their hands on their weapons at all times, though they were careful to keep the weapons in the low ready. Colonel Reed came out after them, limping slightly, but still in perfect military bearing, her back straight and her shoulders squared. It was when Sully, Ney'tiri, and a few of the Olo'eyktan approached the Samson that Harrison noticed their faces. They didn't look defeated. Tired, yes, and some of the Olo'eyktan were wounded, but they all were wearing the same expression. Fierce, determined, and proud. They knew what their people had done, they knew just how close it was. Given that the position of Toruk Makto had been loosely translated as General of the Army, Colonel Reed snapped off a salute, showing due respect to Sully. Sully barely missed a beat as he returned the gesture of respect. The following conversation was done entirely in Na'vi, Reed's formal dialect a steady cadence against Sully's more passionate and relaxed method of speaking the language.

"Toruk Makto, your warriors have fought a long and challenging battle here this day, and the Sky People salute your bravery and respect your determination. As a gift to honor that bravery and determination, we offer you these medical supplies and water bottles," Reed said, gesturing behind her at the cargo bay of the Samson. Jake looked over her shoulder, peering at the many boxes, and nodded, making a sign with his hand, and two of the young braves who were with the Na'vi command team moved forward and began to unload the supplies. "General Treleaven sends his regards. I am the commander here, though, and it is my wish that we end the battle. Both of our sides have shed enough blood to last a month. I propose a truce so that our people can collect the dead and wounded. As a gesture of goodwill, any of our soldiers who are out on the battlefield will be unarmed save for side arms and knives, and I ask that your people do the same."

Jake nodded. "I agree that we have both suffered enough for some time, and I thank you for your gift of medical supplies, we need them pretty badly. I have to ask, though, what about your soldiers up on the ridge? Will they be armed? My Na'vi will be much closer to enemy guns then your soldiers will, and that makes me uneasy."

"I apologize for this, but the battle took place closer to our lines than yours. However, in light of the truce, any soldier who opens fire upon your soldiers without provocation will be turned over to you for you to deal with as you would deal with any oath-breaker and murderer."

Sully scoffed slightly, and then held up his hands to show that he meant no disrespect by the noise. "What determines if the shooting is provoked or not?" he asked, a brow rising quizzically.

Reed spread her hands apart, an apologetic shrug. "I hope that we will not have to find out. I also ask that the battle remain ended while my forces withdraw."

Jake stopped at that request, face going pensive. After a short time, however, he nodded. "I swear that all fighting has been concluded on this field of battle, on one condition: my warriors will be allowed to retrieve our weapons that are on the battlefield." Reed took a moment to think that over, and then nodded. Jake looked relieved for a mere moment of emotion before he replied to the nod, face a determined mask again. "The Battle of the Plains is over."

Colonel Reed visibly relaxed, and offered a tentative smile, something Harrison didn't expect to see from the severe looking woman. "I expect that the historians will rule this battle in your favor, Mister Sully. Or rather, a tactical stalemate, but a strategic victory for the Na'vi."

Jake looked puzzled for a moment. "Ma'am?"

Harrison smirked, realizing what she meant. "While the Na'vi and the humans beat each other to a bloody pulp with no clear victor on the field of battle, it is the humans who need to withdraw, not the Na'vi. Congratulations, Sully, your first major battle was a victory." His grin turned ugly and shark-like. "How does it feel?"

Jake grimaced as though in physical pain, and looked behind him to where Na'vi were already lining up to receive medical aid. "It still feels as though I've lost."

Harrison didn't say anything, and mentally stepped back from the conversation between the two opposing commanders, which began to revolve around the formalities and technicalities of the terms of cease fire. If he was called on, he would act his role as negotiator, but for now just his presence was enough. Both sides were honest in their desire to end the fighting, and Colonel Reed seemed to be honest. Now, if it were an RDA commander at the meeting, he'd be far more alert, paying attention for any attempt on the part of either force to pull a fast one on each other. There was too much bad blood between the RDA and the Na'vi to do otherwise. Granted, a lot of the Na'vi viewed all Sky People as the same, but Jake knew the difference between mercenaries and a professional military force, and a good portion of the Na'vi leadership were starting to get it. It was not overly long before Sully and Reed were saluting each other as a means of departure, and Harrison guided the good colonel back to the Samson, aware of the two Special Forces soldiers following closely behind him. Kind of creepy how they seemed to melt away into nonexistence when they didn't want to be noticed. He had almost forgotten about them during the meeting, they had stayed so still. They just became part of the background, which took quite a bit of skill when you probably have more weapons and gear than a regular squad and your uniform is distinct like theirs was. He wondered briefly what historical military unit they were the closest to in comparison. Maybe United States Army Ranger, or Republic of Korea Marine. They were good, yes, but they didn't give the vibe of the true special forces, those that were modeled after the British S.A.S or the US Navy SEALs or US Army Delta Force or even the Russian Spetznatz.

He had also noticed from what little he had seen of them that they seemed to use normal infantry organization of squads and platoons rather than small teams of four to six men. It stood to reason, he reflected as the Samson took off nimbly, that they were more closely related to the Army Rangers than to the Navy SEALs. It fit, of course. For however long the EEF and the RDA had to hold before more reinforcements arrived from Earth, it made more sense to have highly skilled and trained infantry units that operated under the special forces tab than to have small teams of highly skilled and trained assassins that truly were special forces. He backtracked quickly, glancing at the two soldiers in black who sat silently, seemingly ignoring the chatter going on between Trudy and Lochman. These soldiers _were_ special forces, and he knew that he wouldn't want to get in a scrap with them, even as confident in his own abilities as he was. They just weren't quite at the level of those undoubtedly coming. Deciding to take a gamble, he nodded towards the one on the left. "Hey, what's your name, soldier?"

The soldier in question turned towards him, looking at him dead on, and didn't answer. Harrison smirked as he shook his head, not showing just how creeped out he was to only see his face reflected back at them from a black visor. The soldier said nothing, just stared at him for a handful of drawn out minutes before finally looking away. Harrison simply smirked, keeping his eyes fixed on the soldier. Childish, maybe, and he couldn't say what exactly possessed him to act the way that he was, maybe because he felt slightly threatened, who knew? He opened his mouth to say some snarky comment or another, but then a thought occurred to him.

"Oh, yeah, you two might actually be helpful...do you know if Lieutenant Storch participated in this fight? How is she? She's the one who conducted retrieval on me, five, six months ago." Though his attention was focused primarily on the soldiers in the cargo bay, he noticed that Trudy stopped talking almost mid-sentence. He glanced towards the cockpit, and could see that her head was turned towards the cargo bay, a subconscious move, as she'd be able to hear everything through the Samson intercom. So, she was interested in the fate of the young Lieutenant as well. Interesting.

The two soldiers turned their visored faces towards each other before they both looked at Colonel Reed, who had been sitting with arms crossed, eyes closed, and head resting against the bulkhead. Without opening her eyes, she gave a short, curt nod, and one of the two soldiers shrugged. The other spoke. "Lieutenant Storch was in charge of her platoon during the fight, and she led the final defense of the right flank, after the RDA lines almost broke. I've heard rumors that she's going to be nominated for some medals for her valor and skill in handling the situation," he said, and Harrison could imagine his eyes flicking towards Colonel Reed. Rumors his ass. "Unfortunately, she was wounded during the last five minutes of fighting, and last I knew she was brought to the field hospital."

He blinked. "Really? That's...that's unfortunate. She seemed like a real good front line leader, I sincerely hope that she heals quickly and completely." The two soldiers said nothing, just turned their heads towards each other before looking out opposite sides of the Samson. He knew, of course, that Lieutenant Storch was just as mortal as anyone else, but he had been surprised to hear that she had been hit. Surprised, and filled with more remorse than he expected. He didn't really know all that much about Storch, other than she acted completely professionally while she was retrieving him, and that her men loved her. Maybe it was his sergeant senses tingling. She was a good officer, possibly even a great one, if what these two said was true. Nomination for medals of valor alone would mean that she went well and above the call of duty. He honestly hoped that she would recover quickly.

xxxXXXxxx

Trudy kept her mouth shut the entire trip, not speaking unless she absolutely had to. She knew that her opinion on the entire war was in the minority amongst this crew. But how could she think anything different? Harrison, he never renounced his ties to Earth and humanity. He always stayed loyal to Earth, and was a prisoner until Treleaven showed up and changed his mission. Jackson was blatantly pro-human, and while both Lochman and Liang were dedicated to doing their job properly, neither of them bore any great love for the Na'vi. Only she had acted as a traitor. She gave up everything in support of Jake doing that last battle against Quaritch, and she had very nearly lost her life. Sure, Treleaven seemed to be a reasonable fellow, but what was going to happen if he won, or if his actions caused all humans to be banished from Pandora? She was a wanted criminal on Earth, she had seen the warrants herself. So long as the war was going on and so long as she kept doing her job like a good little pilot, she was probably safe, but once the fighting was over and her vast flying experiences were no longer needed? What then? She had pretty much committed treason against all humans, and those who committed treason were not long in life, not with Earth being so overpopulated. The death penalty was back in force, and there was irrefutable proof that she was a 'traitor.' She wouldn't long survive her return to Earth.

Okay, just to be optimistic, let's say that General Treleaven grants her a pardon because of her work as one of his diplomats. Alright, she'll survive just fine...but what if the next guy in charge isn't as friendly? What if another corporation happy military whack-job gets in power? How would the fragile peace survive such an encounter? Plus, everyone knew her role in the Battle of the Tree of Souls, and she'd likely always face discrimination for that, if not outright hatred. Humans generally didn't let go of grudges real easy. If the humans won, and how could they not, she wondered as she flew over fields that were literally running red with blood, then she'd have to watch her back for years, if not the rest of her life. "Bringing her in," she muttered into her headset, eyes spotting the landing zone set amidst the various pressurized tents and trailers as she approached. Now that the business with the Na'vi had been concluded they could land directly amidst the human encampment. It was nice to fly with a purpose again, but to fly over a battlefield like this one...there was no joy in that. She brought the Samson down gently, not even concentrating on her movements, they had been so ingrained into her body. She could probably do this while delirious, asleep, or both. "Shutting her down...Lochman, you want to help the medics recover the wounded and the dead?" she asked, rolling her eyes at the look of shock that he shot her. "Hey, just because I don't agree with the methods that we're using doesn't mean that I think humans should die and suffer," she jibed.

"Could have fooled me," Harrison quietly muttered. She blinked, turning towards the former RDA sergeant, but he was already off the Samson, talking with Colonel Reed about something or other. She sighed heavily, and grabbed her exopack, sealing it before opening the cockpit to the Pandoran atmosphere, grimacing at how her body instantly started to sweat in the heavy and oppressive air. She'd need a shower once she got back to Hell's Gate now. Great. She jumped lightly out of the Samson, and stumbled as her boots _squished_ into the ground. She swallowed heavily as she lifted a foot, watching as blood, already starting to congeal and form a thick mud with the dirt, dripped off of her boot. She bit her cheek as the nausea hit like a tidal wave. She couldn't throw up in her 'pack. She couldn't throw up _period_. Gingerly placing her foot back down into the bloody mud, she resolutely fixed her eyes on the air-lock that led into the massive tent that was serving as a field hospital. A pair of Samsons stuttered over her, landing quickly, almost close enough to hit her Samson, and flight medics jumped out of the cargo bay, waving for help.

She turned, almost considering helping, and then was thrown forward as a squad ran past her towards the birds. She barely managed to keep her balance, ready to shout out an angry retort when she realized that her left arm was damp and sticky. Blood. Blood on _her_. The squad who had bumped into her were heading back, and she realized that their clothes were nearly saturated in the sanguine blood. Some of it was theirs...more than a few of them were sporting bandages...but it mostly came from those that they were helping. Men and women groaned in pain or cried out in agony as they limped or shuffled with assistance back towards the hospital, some of them bleeding on the squad assisting them. Others were carried on stretchers, some of whom were ominously silent, whereas others cried out in pain. She stood stock still, frozen with shock. A pair of soldiers carrying a stretched passed her, shooting her angry looks through sweat-shined faces. The young Hispanic soldier they were carrying caught sight of her, and reached out, grasping her wrist with a hand that had the ring finger and the pinky torn off. His grip was weak...his wrist had a tourniquet applied to it to slow the bleeding. Normally his hand would have been bandaged by now, but...

His stomach was torn wide open and his left leg was gone. Shrapnel wounds covered his torso. "Mamá?" he croaked, teeth pink with blood, and she shuddered in horror.

"Get the fuck out of the way, bitch!" someone shouted, and she was forcibly shoved out of the way by a soldier as nurses and a flight medic appeared over the stretcher with fresh dressings and a blood transfusion. They didn't even bother to have the soldier get set down, they worked on him as he was carried. He disappeared into the airlock, and she looked down at her wrist, now covered with the young soldier's blood. Wind blew around her as the Samsons immediately took off, ready to go get more soldiers from the field of battle. How fierce had the fighting been if they were still pulling in soldiers like that boy from the battle lines?

Numbly, she made her way over to the hospital, prepared to help in whatever way she could. The next hour passed by in a blur. Entering the hospital, getting hit by the wall of noise, people crying for help, someone get more blood over here, quick, we're losing her shit hold him down we need to amputate MY LEG, OH GOD MY LEG he's dead, sir, get him to the casualty collection point WE NEED SOME HELP OVER HERE, DAMMIT! She found herself shoved into a surgical gown, mask, and gloves before being sucked into helping those who needed it. Holding down patients, getting water for those who needed it, putting pressure on wounds...her world suddenly revolved around blood, torn flesh, and shattered bones. She was able to handle it until she watched a soldier get his exopack cut off only to have his skull open up, his brain spilling out onto the operating table. His exopack had been the only thing holding his head together. The world came roaring in to pinpoint focus and she couldn't hear anything but a solid roaring. The next thing she remembered, she was in the recovery room, where dozens of soldiers waited to be released, all of them covered in bandages.

"So, I'm surprised to see you hear, flygirl," drawled a voice, and Trudy dazedly looked towards the one speaking to her. Storch. Ellen Storch, staring at her with glazed eyes, a relaxed smile on her face. She was hopped up on painkillers. Her leg was elevated, a heavy bandage wrapped around it, and her jumpsuit was undone down to the waist, its sleeves tied around her waist. Her shirt was nowhere in sight, but her torso was wrapped up in tight bandages. "M'fine," she muttered to no one in particular. "Jes' a coup'pla cracked ribs, not broken! They ain't broken, they jes' hurt real bad. Armor save m'life. I think th'cap'n is alright too, said his left leg was gone, but th'could save 'is right'un. I saved his life!" she finished her slurred speech with a victorious shout.

"I'm glad for you, Lieutenant," Trudy said. She had to get out of here. She had to get away from the death and the wounded and from the iron smell of blood. She didn't want to be here anymore. "Ma'am, I've got to go."

Storch just snorted. "Sure, see you later, hot stuff!"

Trudy started, shooting the doped up officer a shocked look before she clambered clumsily to her feet. She moved as quickly as she could, and was soon out in the Pandoran air, barely stopping the sobs that tried to tear from her throat. She was no stranger to death and blood and wounds, but that...that was something completely different! _Come on, Trudy, you're strong! You're Trudy _Chacon_, fer chrissakes! Ain't nobody here can outfly you, just remember that!_ She took a couple of deep breath through her exopack before tearing off her surgical gown. The mask had disappeared while she had nearly passed out, and she sure as hell didn't care enough about the thin piece of paper and string to go back and get it. Feeling more composed, she steadily made her way back to her Samson. A heavy roaring and stuttering started to rattle her teeth, and she watched as several Valkyries and dozens of Samsons appeared in the sky, circling the encampment before settling down just outside of the camp. What was going on? There were still too many critically injured to move by air.

"**NOW HEAR THIS! BY ORDER OF MAJOR RANDALL, ALL RDA PERSONNEL ARE TO REPORT TO THE SAMSON AND VALKYRIE FLEET FOR IMMEDIATE WITHDRAWAL!**" the PA system blared.

She paused, shocked. It was only by a small number, but the patients were mostly RDA troopers. They couldn't be moved without them dying. What was Randall thinking? Soldiers were reporting, but she could see the confusion even from where she was standing. Randall appeared, flanked by security, and he was shouting and waving his arms angrily. An RDA soldier walked up to Randall and pointed towards the hospital, obviously presenting an argument. Randall shook his head, and then pointed towards the awaiting aircraft. The soldier paused, and then shook his head and crossed his arms. Randall gestured towards one of his two guards, and the man came forward and punched the offending soldier in the stomach before dragging him towards the closest Samson and bodily throwing him aboard. Slowly, sullenly, the soldiers began to board the aircraft. Colonel Reed arrived with a squad all in black, but she either didn't say anything or Randall ignored her.

"This was a mistake for Randall," Harrison muttered lowly behind her. She hadn't heard him approach, but she was so wearied from what had taken place today that she couldn't even muster the energy to jump in surprise. "The tides of power are shifting." He drew silent, and then nodded towards the white Samson. "It's starting to get dark, we need to get moving." She nodded, and clambered aboard, not surprised to see Lochman already in the cockpit. She sealed the compartment before gladly peeling off her 'pack. Mindlessly, she started the preflight checks. Once Liang and Jackson arrived, they took off, and she glanced at the RDA soldiers who were still slowly making their way onto the Samsons and Valkyries.

The flight back was just as silent as the flight in, and it passed by in a blur, though she watched the rapidly darkening skies with growing concern. Thankfully, they made it back before true dark fell, though they had needed to use the landing lights when they made it back to Hell's Gate. Though she normally went over the post-flight maintenance with the ground crew, tonight she was just too tired, and she simply nodded her thanks as she made her way back to her quarters. She wasn't surprised to see Hannah asleep in her bed. It was an anxiety induced behavior, and though she knew that the base personnel loved Hannah and likely kept her entertained while she and Harrison were away, she knew that Hannah worried about them whenever they were gone. She gladly stripped out of her flight suit, shuddering at the sight of the dried blood on her clothes. It was just a reminder that she had blood on her skin, as well, and she hurried to her shower, where she spent the next twenty minutes scrubbing every inch of her skin. Thankfully, medical advances kept social diseases tamped down pretty good, and she knew for a fact that no individual with any STD was allowed to go to Pandora, so the risk of blood contamination was actually quite low. Nonetheless, she didn't like the fact that the liquid had been on her bare skin.

Once she was certain of her cleanliness, she came back into her bedroom, fully prepared to curl up next to her daughter's warm body and sleep off the stresses of the day, but Harrison was already in the room, reading Hannah a bedtime story as she sat on his lap, cradled by his protective arms. "...and then the funny little man asked gleefully, 'What is your final guess as to what my name is, Queen? Guess wrong, and your darling child will be mine!' The Queen thought for a moment before smiling. 'Your name must be Rumpelstiltskin!' she said victoriously, and the little man flew into a rage. 'The Devil told you that, the Devil told you that!' he cried before disappearing in a puff of smoke, never to be seen again!" Harrison said with a smile. That had always surprised Trudy, how he loved telling their daughter stories. He changed his voice for each character insofar as he could, and always read with strong emotion. Hannah loved story-time. Harrison kissed the crown of Hannah's head and patted her stomach. "Now, get thee hence and brush your teeth, darling girl, before Rumpelstiltskin comes to take _you _away!"

Hannah gave a short scream of mock terror before darting into the bathroom, pausing only to hug Trudy's legs lovingly. Once the door shut Harrison's smile melted away. "Rough day," he murmured, and she grunted in a decidedly non-committed way. She didn't want to talk about it, not here, not now. Maybe in a week, when she didn't have the smell of blood strong in her memory. "Still, a good day, for both sides. The humans showed that we're here and we mean business, and the Na'vi proved that they are determined. Surprised that it was as close as it was. I wouldn't have been surprised if the humans had won a clear victory."

"Clear victory?" she hissed, unable to rein in her shocked and tattered emotions. "A _good day_? James, did you not see what happened out there, what stupid, useless waste of life that fight was?"

Harrison's face kept calm, but she could see how his cheek twitched. "It was not useless. As a fight, it had to be done. There is a war going on, if you don't forget."

"Forget! Forget? You think I can forget that humanity has come back with an army made solely for the destruction of the Na'vi? Where is the so called mercy, the so called humaneness of human kind? We grind those words into nothing under the treads of our tanks!"

Harrison snorted. "We offered terms of peace, you were there for that, Trudy! Treleaven doesn't want war anymore than Jake does. Don't forget who rejected who at that meeting!"

"Again with forgetting...how about you then, _Harrison_? Did you forget the bombing of the Omaticaya Home Tree? The Destruction of the Tree of Souls? Have you forgotten the pain and the suffering of the Na'vi because of the RDA, because of your _blessed_ EEF?" She scoffed angrily, bitterly. "I can't believe you're siding with humanity after all we've ever done! You're supporting the people who would destroy all of Pandora for some super metal!"

Finally he snapped. "Look at your skin, _Chacon_!" he snarled, shocking her with the amount of negative emotion he loaded onto her last name. "It isn't blue, that's for fucking certain! I fought to ensure that innocent babies back on Earth don't die because we were too afraid to do what is _necessary_ for the survival of our species, and now others are doing the same! Survival of the fittest...isn't that the most elemental law of nature? I can't help that you're too soft-hearted to see the blinding truth!"

"You're just like the RDA mercenary scum!" she shouted, ears ringing with anger, and he raised a hand as though to strike her, but she didn't flinch, didn't turn away, and it was with great effort that he curled the open hand into a fist and brought it down to his side.

"How dare you!" he hissed venomously. "I came to Pandora time and time again because I know that there are millions of children just like Hannah who are dying of hunger, of disease, and of exposure to the shit hole that Earth is! I _refuse_ to lie down and quit fighting just because you were stupid enough to side with the lame horse!"

"Get out!" she shouted, voice cracking with emotion. "Get the hell out of my room, Harrison! I don't want to see your ugly mug again, you fucker!" He didn't say anything, just grabbed his jacket before stomping out of the room, slamming the door behind him. She took in several deep breaths, trying to calm down, when she heard a sniffle behind the bathroom door. Cursing to herself, she turned around and pulled the door open, only to see Hannah looking up at her with tear filled eyes and a quivering bottom lip.

"Mama, why are you and daddy fighting?" she asked, voice tremulous. "I wanted to sleep with both of you tonight, why are you mad at each other? Did something bad happen today?"

Trudy scooped her up and held her close. "Ohhh, baby, it's alright, shhh, it's okay. Daddy and I...we just don't agree on certain things that are going on. Don't worry, things will be okay," she said as reassuringly as she could, but Hannah just sniffled.

"But, mommy, you said that you never want to see him again...is he going to go away forever?" she asked with a small, quiet, and scared voice.

"No, baby, we'll see him again. Mommy didn't mean everything that I said, and daddy probably didn't either...we were just both very excited and said things we didn't mean to." She carried Hannah to the bed and lay down with her. "Now, come on, we both need our beauty sleep. You wanna be pretty like mommy, right?" she asked with a gentle smile, and Hannah nodded, answering her smile with a watery one of her own. "Alright then, let's go to sleep." Though Hannah fell asleep relatively quickly, it would be many hours before Trudy finally drifted into slumber.


	14. Of My Word

**AN- And here is another chapter for you folks, hope you enjoy it. I know that it is nowhere near as long as the last handful of chapters, and that it's largely filler, but that's what's needed right now in the story. Next chapter will feature Storch and her kick butt self, so that's something to look forward to in the very least. Can't say when that will appear, but it should be relatively soon. Hope you guy like this chapter, in spite of its shortness.**

**Read, enjoy, and please review!**

OF MY WORD

Jake watched in nothing less than amazement as the transports took off, flying away through the deepening darkness of the twilight. Messengers had already told him that only the RDA had left, and he could barely see the remaining EEF soldiers scramble for defensive positions. This was it. His opportunity. With the RDA gone, the humans lacked the numbers to fight a winning battle. All he had to do was give the order, and the war would be won. Without his order, the other Olo'eyktan grouped in on him, eyes begging for the order that would result in the defeat of the EEF, and then the RDA after this battle was won. It would be so easy, too! All they would need to do is capture some prisoners as well as some computers, deduce the location of the enemy main base, and hit them with everything they had. They could do it. They could win! He took a deep, steadying breath, looking over his fellow Na'vi, some of whom were bandaged by the medical supplies that the humans had brought. "My brothers and sisters, this is very important that you do exactly as I say. Have your people continue doing what they are doing. We need to collect the wounded and count our dead. There will be no further fighting."

"But Jakesully!" one of the younger Olo'eyktan protested, the look of shocked anger on his face common amongst the others. Ney'tiri was openly glaring at him, eyes channeling outrage. "But Toruk Makto, we can beat them here, there are less of them now! Let us fight, let us _win_!"

"No!" Jake snapped, voice imperious. "Would you have me break my word? I swore that I would end all the fighting, and I am no deceiver! Would you have us be like the Sky People, saying one thing and doing another? I know that this could win us the war, but then our people would be the same as the Sky People, lying for the sake of greed? And if we attack them here, the Sky People from before, the RDA would be in charge, and they will not honor any treaties, and they will burn our Home Trees down with no warning. They have weapons the likes of which you have never seen, and if those madmen are in charge, our people will be wiped out, erased from the surface of Pandora forever! I can _not_ allow that to happen!"

"You are a fool, Jakesully!" Ney'tiri bit out, and he openly snarled, flashing his canines.

"No, it is _you_ who is too damn stupid to realize what is happening!" he roared angrily. "Those people on the ridge? They are the tip of the arrow, the lead elements of an army larger than we can possibly imagine! Our army, here? The humans can bring an army hundreds the size of all of our warriors put together! If you do not fight an honest fight, fight by the rules of war, you will be viewed as worthless fucking savages and ground into oblivion! You would let your hatred and anger cloud your judgment so that you bring about your own destruction!"

Ney'tiri stared at him with shocked eyes. "Jake, I...please, listen, I-"

"No, _you_ listen! The Na'vi do not have a history of warfare! We all know this, and I have tried to teach you as well as I could, but I had ten years to teach our warriors how to fight against the Sky People, and we have done well this day, better than I could have hoped, but the Sky People have over ten thousand _years_ of military experience! They've been butchering each other with no provocation other than greed or minor differences since the beginning of their history, and I'm tired of your idiotic anger blocking your ears to reason!" he snapped, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Eywa brought us together, Ney'tiri, and I am so glad that I found you, but you must listen to me, ALL of you must listen to me! Even with Eywa helping us, we may very well lose this war."

"What?" "No!" "We can beat them, Toruk Makto, we beat them before!"

"NO! _Eywa_ beat them before, our people were routed and defeated before she decided to listen and help us, all of you surely remember that!" he ground out, forcing them to remember. "Some of you were there! Those were just the mercenary scum who fled like cowards, who lacked the heavy weapons that a true military has. Quaritch and his men tried so very hard to destroy the Tree of Souls, and failed only because of Eywa. They were defeated, yes, but then the Sky People came back, and within a mere thirty minutes of us refusing their terms, they effortlessly destroyed the Tree of Souls. What other message must we endure but that?"

"So..." the young Olo'eyktan from before started, voice slow and dangerously low. "...you are leading us into defeat? Is that why you refuse to fight the Sky People still here?"

Jake glared at the Na'vi. "No. This battle has given me hope, hope for a future that the Na'vi can stand side-by-side with the humans someday, brothers and sisters in a brave new world, but if that is to happen, if the Na'vi and the Sky People can truly live in peace with one another, we must play by the rules. One thing that I do know for certain is that the Sky People will never leave Pandora. They are here now, and will be here for the rest of eternity. Eywa now has new children. It is up to us to preserve our future with the Sky People. We need to prove that we are civilized, that we are not savages to be blotted from history. And this battle today? This battle today has given me hope for that future. I imagine a world where the Na'vi and the Sky People are equally strong, brothers and sisters, born of Eywa's soil." He paused, flashing a tired smile at the Na'vi surrounding him. "Surely that is a worthy goal, a peace where all can find happiness. If we fight solely for revenge, is that truly in keeping with what we have learned from Eywa, or is that a lesson learned from the Sky People?" Without another word, he turned and began to make his way towards the ridge, his leadership following behind him, each exhibiting different emotions.

It took less time than he expected to reach a point a mere two hundred meters away from the ridge line, and he raised a hand in greeting. A couple of breathless moments of tense anticipation later, a human jumped up out of a fighting position and raised a hand in return. The palpable tension that had fallen over the former battlefield dissipated, and Jake breathed a sigh of relief as he bent down and picked up a Na'vi body that lie broken at his feet. Cradling the young male warrior's body in his arms, he made his way slowly, reverently back to where the Na'vi dead were being collected. This young warrior had given his life for Jake's cause, the least he could do was carry him with the dignity and respect that he deserved. Somewhere, out in the darkness, a Na'vi female began singing the song of mourning, and it was slowly picked up by the rest of the army. By the time he reached the ever growing lines of Na'vi warriors, the entire army was singing, raw sadness touching the haunting melody, and Jake was biting back tears as he lay the young warrior down, not surprised when the rest of the Olo'eyktan each lay down another fallen Na'vi to join the one that he had picked up. _Such is the price of leadership_, he thought sadly as he turned and made his way back to the battleground. _But I have proven that I am a man of my word_. _That alone is worth the price of victory and of leadership_. _Now, I only need to convince my fellow leaders of the same_. His trials were just beginning, and he felt the weight of his role in the conflict press down on his shoulders. _Once more unto the breach, dear friends_, he thought with a wearied sigh. _Once more_!


	15. What Makes the Grass Grow?

**AN- Alright, this chapter is the big one. This is the most violent chapter of the bunch, and has extremely mature themes including violence and torture. This chapter features the primary POV of Storch, but also Anderson and some new faces. Does Storch prepare herself fast enough to stop Anderson before he takes down his next target, or will she be tragically too late and live with the knowledge that she didn't work fast enough?**

**If you do not like violence, do not read past: **'Once he counted to a minute, he nodded, and they moved for the building entrance, a savage anticipation humming though his veins. The hunt was drawing to a close!' **as that is when things get real interesting. Again, this chapter contains extremely mature themes of violence and torture. If you don't like it, don't read it.**

**Nonetheless, I hope that all my readers can read this and enjoy it, and if you do, send me a review so that I can keep doing what I do best, and if you don't, still send me a review so I can make it better. Have a good read, guys, and have a good day!**

WHAT MAKES THE GRASS GROW?

She sucked in hissing breaths, ignoring the still slightly present ache in her ribs as she skipped back, closely followed by Tan, who unleashed another brutal series of kicks and punches that she only barely managed to deflect, their impact on her arms and legs stinging. She was a decent street fighter, and had studied an amateur form of martial arts related to an Israeli style of fighting before she left the streets and joined the Army, but that was a long time ago, and she had forgone practicing after she had decided to work primarily as a leader and not as a killer. Tan feinted a move with his leg, and she lowered her hands, prepared to block when his fist snapped into her nose, just shy of the amount of force needed to break it. She yelped, and dropped to her knee as warm blood splattered down her chin. Tan cried something in Korean, swinging his leg up in an axe kick to strike her in the head, and she looked up through the blinding tears at his blurred form before surging upwards, slamming her shoulder into his crotch, lifting him off the ground before driving him back down, all of her weight centered on his pelvis, and only the fact that they were sparring in the gym with padded fall mats kept his pelvis from being broken. With a fierce shout, she brought her hand up, prepared to hammer it into his torso or his face, but Nakamura called out the end of the match.

She sagged back, relieved, sucking in deep breaths through her mouth, still blinded by her teary eyes, and Tan rolled up, his hand tenderly touching her face. She allowed it. His fingers prodded her nose gently before pinching the bridge of her nose. "Lean forward," he quietly ordered, and she did so, blinking away the tears and concentrating on how her face felt like it was on fire. "I'm sorry for hitting you like that, ma'am, but I did warn you." He had, and done so multiple times. He wasn't teaching her martial arts, he was teaching her how to fight, how to kill. The base library had multiple complete records of many different martial arts, including Krav Maga, and she was relearning what she had forgotten over the years away from Detroit. But Tan had warned her that it was going to be full contact, that while he was training her, he was going to be teaching her how to ignore pain, how to continue to fight past the point that she should be able. It had been three weeks since the battle, two weeks since she got out of the hospital, and every day that was not spent in classes or doing PT she was with Tan, pushing herself beyond the limit, driving herself towards the goal with single-minded determination.

Tan was worried about her. She could tell by the way that he looked at her, by the way he acted around her...all the men were worried in some form or another. She understood, in some ways. She went through the motions of living, as though she were merely an android replacement for Ellen Storch, sharing her body but not her humanity, but they didn't understand. Now that the first battle had been fought, now that everyone was settled back, rebuilding, rearming, and reorganizing for the next big fight, she had to prepare for her personal mission before something else happened, before another soldier was raped. She had already started gathering the supplies, had already begun to scope out where the act would take place, where she would get her revenge. It was only a matter of time now. Her breath caught and her nose not bleeding anymore, she stood. "Again," she said, and Nakamura and Tan switched places, Nakamura with a slightly nervous look on his face as he assumed a ready stance. "Begin!" she shouted, surging forward in attack.

xxxXXXxxx

She watched as the Valkyries came in for a landing. Four weeks since the battle, and the next wave of EEF soldiers had arrived. She heard rumors about a 'real' Special Operations unit, specialists from all over the world who would go out into the jungles and hunt high value targets. There was also scuttlebutt about the main body of soldiers being the 'Brits Battalion,' a collection of soldiers from Great Britain and other Commonwealth Nations such as New Zealand, Australia, and Canada. She certainly hoped so. She had been on military maneuvers with the Brits Battalion during EEF training, and they were a group of professional and no nonsense soldiers, and they would be greatly appreciated on Pandora. Plus, now the EEF largely outnumbered the RDA, at least two-to-one now. What was more, Randall had hurt his standing when he had refused to remain on the battlefield once Reed made the cease-fire agreement. He had said that he refused to stay because he didn't want his men to be part of an organization willing to come to any sort of peaceful terms with the blue savages, but he had also left a great deal of his most wounded behind to die, had Sully not kept to his word. Now the RDA were more apathetic to the EEF chain of command, who had refused to quit the field until all soldiers were accounted for. In addition, the two human factions now were blood brothers and sisters of the same battle. They had now begun to forge bonds through combat, and she knew that she was an integral part to that.

A group of RDA soldiers marched past, all of them snapping off smart salutes that she gladly returned. All of them were part of Captain Elbelkacimi's company. She had visited him regularly in the hospital, not only of her own free will but also under the order of Captain Burns. Hell, they had even been to some of the same physical therapy class together back when her leg was still messed up. He wasn't going home, but the prosthetic that he was going to get was going to prevent frontline duty. Elbelkacimi was going to be a paper pusher for the rest of his military career. That fact hurt the proud man, but at the same time, she had saved his life, and he was indebted to her for that. He also bore no great love for Major Randall, at least not anymore. After all, he was the one who ordered that Elbelkacimi be the one to personally retrieve Corporal Anderson from the shit-fest that was the left flank. Randall's order resulted in the death of multiple pilots and crewmates of the Samsons, plus a half dozen RDA joes. All for the life of his nephew, who was not very popular at all amongst the RDA. They knew what he was like. Captain Elbelkacimi, who had told her to call him Captain El for convenience sake, said that she could rely on him and his company in case things got bad. He never defined what bad actually entailed, but she'd hold him up to it.

Watching the massive aircraft fly in for their landing procedures for a few minutes more, she turned on her heel and made her way to the indoor range. She was due for more hand-to-hand training with Tan after that, and she needed practice for what she had to do. Her finger drummed a tattoo against her holster as she stepped along, flanked by two of her soldiers. She wanted to be ready in a month. The single-minded determination was doing her good, she already knew, and she was already more deadly than she had been since she arrived on Pandora. She had heard some of the whispers made by her men and women, how she was different...colder, more serious, not quite the charismatic woman that she had been, but that was the price she had to pay. If they didn't like it, they could transfer out. She entered the range, glad to see Tan and a few others setting up, filling four balloons with helium, three of them red, one yellow. There were premeasured strings, and they quickly tied them to the balloons before walking a short way down the range where a piece of tape lie waiting.

"Are the cameras off?" she asked as they taped down the strings. The exact heights of Anderson and his posse of goons. She received a curt nod, and she stepped up to the firing line as her men came off of it. There was a roar as the fans of the range came on. They were used to stimulate wind effects on bullets, but now they made the four balloons dance, like men did when they were seeking cover; erratic, chaotic, unpredictable. She drew her sidearm, screwing on a silencer, thankful for the heavy and subsonic .45ACP bullet. There was a clatter as Tan set up floodlights behind her, and she took deep breaths as she kept her pistol at the low ready. Once there was no more sound from Tan behind her, she drew in another deep breath. "Lights!" she shouted over the noise of the fans, and all the lights of the range shutdown, bathing her in darkness. A heartbeat, a second heartbeat, a third-

The floodlights came on, blasting the balloons with light and her pistol was up as she acquired the first sight picture. She had only done this a few times before, but each time entailed two hours on the range, practicing the same movements over and over and over until they were second nature, instinctual and reflexive in their nature. There were three rapid clacks from her pistol, the silencer muffling the sound of the actual report so that the loudest sound was the action on the handgun. The three red balloons popped, one down with each round, and she grinned as the lights came on. Perfect. "Time?"

"One point eight seconds."

"Perfect. Let's do it again, we still have an hour and fifty minutes." She would do this perfectly. There was no other option.

xxxXXXxxx

"Uh, ma'am, you want us to do _what_ now?" PV2 Hiruma asked, his voice incredulous, and he glanced at the other three that she had gotten to join her for the sparring match. Corporal Anwar merely regarded her warily, while PFC Sanchez and Specialist Hersey had the same confused expression as Hiruma. Tan and Nakamura looked on, faces amused. They knew what was coming.

She grinned, shark-like. "I want you to rape me."

"Uhhhh..." Anwar drew out, fidgeting. "I'm pretty certain that's an unlawful order, ma'am."

She sighed. "Not literally, soldiers. I need you to attack me. I've been learning a lot with Tan and Nakamura, and it's been a month since I've started training. Now I need to know if it holds up. Don't try any fancy martial arts bullshit, you four are attacking me in order to subdue me so that you can have your way with me. This exercise is full contact, there is no rank on the mat. I need you to seriously attack me. Begin."

"Ma'am, I really don't-" Sanchez began, but was cut off with a startled choking sound as she darted forward and sank her fist into his solar plexus. He backed off, retching and trying to suck in a breath, and she spun in on Hersey, the toe of her foot catching him in the inside of his knee, and he yelped as he dropped to the ground, clutching the joint in pain. She had pulled the attack enough that it wouldn't actually hurt him, but she knew that the attack _must_ have hurt. Anwar grabbed her from behind in a bear hug, trying to switch it into a full nelson, but she began to drive her elbow repetitively into his side until he loosened up enough for her to turn around. Pressing her forehead into his sternum, she drilled a triple jackhammer blow into his gut before grabbing his crotch with a clawed hand.

"Oh, fuck, God, please not the-!" he began as she dropped low, her free hand seizing his shoulder before she rocketed up smoothly, hand on his should pulling up and back, hand jammed into his crotch pushing up in the same direction, and his body sprang in an effort to relieve the pressure she was exerting on his, ah, tenders, and that only aided her as she threw him bodily over her shoulder, slamming him into the ground, denying him the chance to turn the fall into a roll. The air whooshed out of his lungs, and he coughed weakly as she turned towards Hiruma, who was holding a plastic training knife. He took one look at her face, glanced at his knife, and dropped it as though it were red hot, hands coming up in surrender.

"OhGodpleasedon'thurtme!" he yelped, and she just rolled her eyes as she skipped back away from the other three, who were in various states of pain.

"Again," she ordered, and they staggered to their feet. "And this time, at least try to hurt me!"

xxxXXXxxx

Grigori Senko watched as the group of seven soldiers walked out of the gym, all but two of the men of Asian descent in various states of residual pain from the after effects of hand-to-hand sparring, especially the only woman of the group, who looked like she was going to develop a minor black eye and still had the signs of recently having a nose bleed. She was also panting and was shiny with sweat. Of course, he recognized her. All special operations soldiers knew each other...if she saw him and his partner, she'd recognize them for some of the new arrivals on this moon. "Look at that," he murmured to his partner in perfect German. His partner, a short and thickset man who had blonde hair so light that it may has have well been white, almost the opposite of his own tall frame and black hair, looked up from the reports he had been reading and gave a low whistle.

"Notice her eyes," the much shorter man replied in perfect Russian. A game they played quite often. Though Senko was from Mars, he was one hundred percent an ethnic Ukrainian, and was fluent in the language of his mother country as well as Russian, English, German, and Na'vi. His partner, a man by the name of Kushtrim Heffelfinger, came from Switzerland. He spoke German, French, English, Na'vi, and some Spanish. Though he normally had kind eyes and a laughing face, Senko had seen that mask disappear in a fraction of a second, revealing the cold and calculating killer that Heffelfinger really was. Trust him to notice that the woman's eyes...Storch had eyes that were as hard and cold as diamonds. Those weren't the eyes of a leader, those were the eyes of a killer on a mission.

Strange. His tongue thoughtfully probed the gap in his teeth, where his upper left canine and the incisor directly to the right of it had been knocked out during a bar fight. Though he hated the slight lisp that it gave him (hence why he preferred speaking German or Russian, which the majority of the soldiers on this base didn't speak, and if they did they wouldn't be able to differentiate his lisp from the language itself...plus it was good practice and made listening in on their conversations even more difficult since they were speaking two different languages) it had become almost a nervous tic to run his tongue over the gap, just like when he was irritated, he'd roll his ankle out slightly so that the knife concealed in his boot would press more firmly against his leg. It was reassuring. "We're going to have to keep an eye on that one. She's...interesting."

"No doubt. So, did you know that Earth plants love the nitrogen rich atmosphere of Pandora? Crop yields are through the roof, even for the more exotic plants like cocoa. I can't wait until I can have chocolate again! I just hope that it measures up to Swiss chocolate."

"Yes, yes, no doubt you love your Swiss chocolate, but keep you mind on the mission. We're going to be using our avatars for the first time tomorrow, and we'll be beginning our conditioning for this moon. Have you been studying the enemy command structure? The Olo'eyktan in sector thirty-four bravo is a Na'vi by the name of..." Storch momentarily put out of their mind, the two continued on their way, speaking of distances, of targets, of terrain and animal considerations. They had some very important jobs in the near future, and they would be ready.

xxxXXXxxx

Storch sat up in bed, sheets pooling around her naked lap, bare chest heaving as she tried to suck in air. The nightmare had been vivid, and they'd only been getting more vivid since she had made the decision to hearken back to her roots from her days on the streets. There was a groan, and a warm body shifted next to her, and she glanced over at Tanja Artyomov. The Russian Second Lieutenant murmured something in sleepy Russian before rolling over, one hand dropping onto Storch's inner thigh, squeezing gently. Storch took several deep and stabilizing breaths, glad that the woman's touch didn't freak her out like a man's most likely would have. She had been lucky with Tanja, she knew. The young woman was bisexual, and had been more than happy to come to Storch's quarters. They both knew that it wasn't romantic, nor was it platonic, what they were doing. They were both seeking comfort and pleasure with one another, nothing more, nothing less. Storch was glad for the level of detachment, as she was not at all ready for anything even approaching a romantic relationship. This, however, this she could live with. She leaned over and planted a kiss on the tousled blonde head of the tall Valkyrie. "_Zdrasitvui_, _tovarich_," she said in horribly mangled Russian, and Tanja laughed, coming more awake.

"'Greetings, comrade'?" she asked, obviously amused. "I am thinking that if comrades were like that back on Earth I never be leaving _Rodina_, yes? You are quite skilled with fingers and tongue, and-" she cut herself off, seeing Storch's face for the first time. "What wrong? You are looking like _babushka_ who has seen too many tragedy over long years." Her voice was equal parts concerned and curious, and Storch just shook her head.

"I don't really want to talk about it, Tanja, I just want to go back to sleep."

The Russian scoffed. "You are lying now. You will be having no sleep now, you just lie and toss and turn and think of forgotten memories. Please, I am be good listener. I speak of this to no person."

She sighed heavily, but that was some merit to what Tanja was saying. It honestly would be good to get it off her chest, to talk about it with someone. She drew in a deep breath, preparing herself for what lay ahead. Though she didn't know Tanja for very long, she gave off the vibe of someone who could be trusted, and the enlisted soldiers under her command loved her. She could speak honestly with Tanja. "I grew up on the streets of Detroit, as I was found abandoned when I was just a baby. I have no idea who my parents are. The streets of Detroit...it would be like growing up with no parents in Volgograd or Moscow, very mean, very little mercy for those who were weak."

A darkness flitted through Tanja's eyes, and she nodded. "I am understanding of idea, yes. You are not alone in being, how do you say..." she rattled something off in rapid Russian before pausing, obviously searching for words. "Street rat? Urchin? Though I am not having been such my entire life, I was foolish during teenage years, running from home, joining street gang and being thief. Very stupid, very foolish, glad I joined Army and am finding beautiful woman with hazel eyes, yes?"

Storch couldn't help but laugh a little at that. "Yes, Tanja, I am glad as well. But like you, I joined a street gang, and ran with them while I wasn't in school. I wasn't going to let the fact that I was part of a gang stop me from getting an education. That's probably my greatest talent...once I start something, I see it to the end." Anderson's smug face flashed in her mind's eye, and her fist clenched in the blanket. Soon. Very soon. She was almost ready. "I suppose that I joined the gang because before that I was put in an orphanage that had far too many people in it. I didn't belong, and was bullied a lot, and so I wanted to be a part of something where I felt like I belonged. I wish that I had known better." She paused, organizing her thoughts, the memories of years long past coming up again, dredged from where she had put them to try and forget.

"It wasn't all unhappy, mind you," she continued, staring blankly at the wall. "I found my first lover in the gang, a young thief by the name of Melissa. A sweet girl, she had joined to get help for her sick mother. She made it known that though she'd steal, she didn't want to hurt anyone. That's what I was for. Normally a school girl would be disliked and distrusted in a gang, but I was smart, and our gang leader recognized that. Now he was a sick fuck!" she bit the last word out, the echoes of his insane laughter ringing in her skull again. "But he was smart, too, and he saw my talent, made me learn how to fight, how to kill, even though I didn't like it. He kept control of me through fear, forced me to watch as he killed those who tried to run away. No one got out of Katana's gang, he didn't allow it." She paused again, not entirely certain how to proceed.

Tanja brought up a hand, softly stroking her cheek. "Go on, I am listening, and have no judging on you. You are hero of Army, not criminal from street. Tough childhood make you who you are. You are _wonderful_."

Storch smiled softly, sadly. "Melissa thought the same thing. We both entertained the thought of getting out, and we both saved money where we could. We could do it, too. Though Katana had the usual thugs who adored him, he was intrigued by me, because I always hated him, and I wasn't quiet about it. He viewed me as his successor, and trained me for it. He'd rather have someone smart who hated him take over rather than a brainless sycophant, a kiss ass. I knew it was time for me to get out when, despite my feelings and everything that I tried to tell myself, I started to like it. I _liked_ having the power to kill, the power over other people. I started to hate the person in the mirror as much as I hated Katana. Melissa grounded me, kept me sane, and when I was sixteen and she was fifteen, we were finally ready to go. But on the day that we planned to get out, he found out. I don't know how he found out, who snitched us out, but he took Melissa and beat her to death with an iron bar. It took over an hour, and he made me watch as he started with her extremities and began to break bone after bone after bone. I don't know when she passed out from the pain or when she died, but the autopsy said that she lasted maybe half-an-hour before she finally died. He broke every bone in her body."

She stopped, fighting the urge to vomit, remembering the loud cracks and pops, the screams that eventually turned into hoarse whimpers that eventually turned to silence. "He...he still wanted me to take over, maybe even more so now. But I refused. I did the unimaginable, I went to the authorities. Even though Katana was an evil tyrant, the rest of the gang was family, and to go to the cops was a betrayal of them as much as a betrayal of Katana. But it was worth it. The cops came in force. Katana's gang was well known, and did drug running, prostitution, illegal gambling, dog fighting, gun marketing, and smuggling. The cops had taken some of the lower bosses in the organization, but they wanted Katana himself. I gave them to him. There was a shoot out that resulted in the death of twelve gang members, my family. Four cops died, and Katana was killed in the end. He died laughing maniacally. He thought it was funny that he was going out with a bang. I can still hear that laugh today."

"What happened to you? You were criminal in eyes of cops, yes?"

"Yes. Though I gave them everything they needed for the raid, I was still muscle from a dangerous gang. I was tied to several crime scenes, and they had me cold. However, my records were sealed because I was a minor, and I offered sufficient proof to show that I was forced into my situation. Katana kept videos and journals of how he was trying to turn me into a criminal, showed how much I resisted, how much I hated it. Because I had no family, it wasn't difficult to enlist when I became seventeen. The day after my birthday, I was enlisting. I needed a new family. I needed a family that would never betray me, would never kill its own members on a sadistic whim, a family that would always take care of me."

"The Army."

"The Army. I started out as the lowest rank, a basic private, and while I was going through Basic Training I was also completing high school. The rest is history. I wanted to forget being trained how to be a killer, a _murderer_, so I concentrated on the leadership aspect of the military. I could take care of the soldiers underneath my limited command, could do the right thing. My commanders noticed that over the years, and got me slated for OCS, Officer Candidate School. I loved it. I worked as hard as I could, and graduated early, in the top ten of my class. Then the opportunity to go to Pandora arose, and I snatched it up, getting an automatic advancement from Second Lieutenant to First Lieutenant, and now here I am."

"I am feeling so sorry for you, you had rough bringing up. But would you be able to be killing people again? Pandora is dangerous place, this I am knowing, even if I am only a ditch digger for Army."

Storch forced herself to laugh, hugging the taller woman, enjoying the feel of skin on skin. "Oh, you're much more than a ditch digger, Tanja." Then she grew serious, and was glad that the tall and blonde Russian couldn't see her face, as her head was perched comfortably on Tanja's shoulder. She could see herself in the mirror on the wall, and it was a face that she hadn't seen since she was fifteen years old and a mean spirited street thug learning how to enjoy killing and how to loathe herself. Anderson's face flashed before her eyes again, and her face hardened still further. "But yes, Tanja, I am fully capable of killing again." She suddenly yawned, tired again. "Talking with you has helped. Let's go to bed..._tovarich_," she said with a laugh, and Tanja merely poked her in the belly before laying down, muttering something about foolish Americans using the word comrade. Storch lay down, too, and within minutes was asleep again, her dreams not dreams but plans for the upcoming days. The time was rapidly coming.

xxxXXXxxx

"Hey, boss, I think we got a winner."

Anderson leaned back in his chair, quirking an eyebrow. He had been feeling antsy ever since that Storch bitch spared his life during the battle. He hadn't been able to see her face because of those stupid polarized lenses that only the Special Forces got, but he had seen her name tag and rank. It had been her. She had also frozen upon seeing him, and he knew that she knew. She had been able to steal his dogtags before her lackeys came to save her pathetic ass, so there was no way that she didn't know who he was and what he did. So why did the cunt spare him? It would have been perfect, a single bullet or a flick of her knife's blade, and he would have died. She had spared him, and he didn't know why, and he felt like the lesser man. He needed to assert his masculine dominance over the weaker women. They needed to be reminded who the real boss was. "Who is it?" he asked, glad that they were in his quarters, where there were no bugs, no electronic surveillance devices. They had privacy here.

"Some chick from the RDA. Staff Sergeant, a paper pusher in Captain Elbelkacimi's Company. Though she's twenty-eight, she's still pretty hot." A brief flash of movement, and Anderson caught the datapad that came flying at him. He glanced at the picture. A picture taken during an off day, nice body, long and wavy brown hair, brown eyes, nice bust. Laughing eyes. She'd do.

"What makes her the one?"

"She's going to be working late next Monday, heard her bitching about it while in the chow line yesterday. Already scoped out the area, that part of the base suits our purposes. Should be pretty simple."

"Right. She's the next one. Our alibi ready?"

A dark laugh. "When is it not?" came the response, and Anderson didn't bother to answer the question. So. She was his next target. Already anticipation stirred in his stomach. He couldn't wait!

The next five days passed slowly, and he was careful, like he always was. He never approached the woman, never even saw he, making sure to keep his daily routine away from hers. He already knew when and where she'd be, so what did it matter? Allowing himself to be seen near the target was sloppy. He had only ever gotten sloppy with Storch, and in hindsight he should have stuck that whore like a pig and screwed her corpse while it was still warm. If it weren't for his uncle, he'd have been caught. No sir, only do it right from now on, only do it carefully. The night in question finally came around, and he and his three closest were waiting out of sight and out of mind when the Staff Sergeant finally emerged from her Company Headquarters Building, and he cursed softly. She had a battle buddy, some big hulking mouth breather. They wouldn't be able to do it. But, oh, how he wanted to see her beneath him, writhing in pain as he took everything away from her!

Unwilling to let it be, he and his three buddies followed her, keeping back, but not hiding or trying to sneak around. No, they were just four RDA troopers, done with a long day's hard work, heading back to the barracks for some rack time. Nothing extraordinary, nothing to draw attention. Then, a stroke of luck. The Staff Sergeant began to slow down slightly, and eventually stopped next to a building that was under construction. He knew of it. It had basic facilities like running water and a pressurized environment, but had no locks and more importantly no security. The wind carried back the conversation.

"...really have to go...gone back at the office...thought I could make it..." she groaned, and the man made some comments to low for the four to hear, but the woman waved him on. "...only a few minutes from the barracks...see you in the morning," she cheerfully said, and the man shrugged before moving on, giving a small wave over his shoulder. The Staff Sergeant, God bless her poor soul, entered the air lock, and Anderson began counting while looking around. No one else was around, the mouth breather already around the corner. Once he counted to a minute, he nodded, and they moved for the building entrance, a savage anticipation humming though his veins. The hunt was drawing to a close!

xxxXXXxxx

Storch had nodded quite politely to SSG Marin as the woman entered the trap that had been so meticulously set. They had never met face to face, nor had the good sergeant ever met any of her soldiers, and probably hadn't ever met any Special Forces soldiers, period. However, they had become good friends over the base email service. She was careful in setting the trap, not giving Anderson any cue that would alert him for the trap he was walking into. "Four of them, thought they were being clever. Get them, ma'am, they're scum that don't deserve to be shoved outside without an exopack on."

"Get the lights on the way out," she returned, and Marin nodded as she breezed past. A few seconds later, and the lights went out noiselessly. Now was the hard part. Anticipation made adrenaline surge through her body, and her hands shook slightly. No. She took several deep and steadying breaths, resting her foot lightly on the light switch, pistol already at the low ready. Powerful floodlights behind her, pistol in her hands, and a tazer resting on the small table in front of her. She was ready. The airlock light went from green to red, and she grinned wolfishly. Party time.

xxxXXXxxx

The second that the airlock door popped open, Anderson realized that something was wrong. The lights in the entry room were off, and his eyes were still used to the streetlamp lit night, so he couldn't see anything beyond general shapes. Why hadn't the RDA bitch turned on the lights when she-

Movement to his front, a soft clicking noise, and there was an excruciating flare of light that instantly blinded him. He opened his mouth to curse, to give the order to get back behind cover, but he never had the chance. There were three sharp coughs that must have been quiet but seemed deafening in the room, and he was suddenly alone, his three cronies slumping to the ground, the sharp smell of blood and gunpowder permeating the air. "What the-?" he yelped, and then his entire world was consumed by a flashing pain as his body locked up, and he collapsed over Steve, whose head was strangely deflated, testament to the bullet that had caught him right between the eyes. He tried to move, tried to escape, but he couldn't, even when someone loomed over him. He caught a flash of movement, and then light exploded across his vision as something hard caught him in the temple. The ringing light faded into nothingness as he felt his conscience fade away.

He couldn't tell how much later it was when the loud noise woke him up, but all he knew was that he was stark naked and tied facedown on a large sheet of plywood. "What the fuck?" he groggily muttered, trying to place the noise. It was...an air compressor. An air compressor? What the hell.

"Oh good, you're awake." Female, cold as the arctic ice. The icy fury in the voice made his skin crawl and he tried to move. "Oh, no, no, no. You are going to stay just like you are. I would have been more thorough in my methods of detaining you, but, ah, I wanted you awake for this." Something rubbery and round pressed against the back of his knee, something with weight against it, and he heard something slithering against the ground. A hose...connecting the air compressor with a nail g-!

Ka-_CHAK_! He screamed as something pierced through the back of his knee, through his knee cap, and into the plywood sheet. "You see, you aren't going anywhere. You're never going to be naughty again, Mister Anderson. You aren't going to do _anything_ ever again."

"Storch?" he screeched, beyond anger and well into fury, a rage fueled by the pain.

"Oh, you're good. But then, who else would it be?" Ka-_CHAK_! His other knee. He grit his teeth, determined not to scream. "I mean, I suppose it's your own fool fault. Really? Who in their right mind rapes a Special Forces soldier? I know things that would make you crawl into a corner and cry like a little bitch." The words were spoken impassively, almost monotonously, and he heard her move around the table before pressing the nail gun against his forearm, two inches below the wrist. Ka -_CHAK_! He didn't know how he managed to swallow the scream, but he looked up at the woman now crossing in front of the table, glaring at her with as much hate as he could muster. She was wearing a surgical gown, mask with an eye shield, and gloves. "It's so perfect, too. Your very own habits work against you. We'll be alone for a nice long time, soldier-boy." She pressed the nail gun against his other forearm, eyes impassively watching him, and he turned away just in time to avoid watching her pull the trigger, and now the pain was accompanied by an account wave of nausea, and he threw up, splashing his own face with vomit before collapsing, his face pressed against the now wet and stinking wood.

"My uncle will find you!" he groaned weakly, head pounding with pain.

"No he won't. I haven't touched anything in this room with my bare hands, I've recovered all my brass, I have the tazer I used against you in my pocket, and a barrel stands ready with gasoline for my surgical gown. As we speak, I am 'visiting' Captain Elbelkacimi with my platoon leadership. One of my soldiers is an excellent hacker, and it wasn't hard to splice my image in with my team in all of the hospital cameras. All of the security and the nurses and the doctors will remember seeing a group of Special Forces soldiers visiting the good Captain, and though they can't remember if I was there or not, but clearly the hospital security cameras show that I am there. Captain El definitely remembers seeing me, and he will quote several things that I 'say' tonight, including warm wishes that he gets well soon. A shame that not all other RDA soldiers are as good as he is." She disappeared from his field of vision, and he swallowed heavily when she wrenched his head back, showing him something that made his insides run cold. "This is a curling iron. Guess what it looks like? Guess where I'm going to be putting it? I'm being generous, by the way. I considered not using lube, but even I'm not that evil. Now you are going to suffer."

Her words, though horrifying, were completely clinical and detached. There was no emotion, and he fought the urge to scream. "You call this justice, you fucking whore?" he roared, and he heard her pause.

"Justice? No, justice would be having a platoon of MPs in here, waiting for you to begin. This is revenge. I'm doing this for me. Just wait until I show you what a properly applied nail file can do. Pliers for your fingernails, a box cutter for your skin, plus some salt I stole from the kitchens. Bolt cutters for your...ah...well, you can guess. A hammer for your major joints. Eventually you are going to die, but we've both got a journey to make before we get that far. Now," she said clearly, in the same cool and calm voice. "Let us begin." She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "What makes the grass grow, Corporal?"

He screamed.

xxxXXXxxx

Carefully shedding the surgical gown and throwing it into the 55 gallon drum that already had gasoline in it and most of the tools that she had needed to bring to the site, like the curling iron and other feminine items, she added some more gas to it before striking and tossing in a match. It caught with a loud _fwumph_. In thirty seconds, the fire suppression system would come on, further obliterating any minute evidence that would tie her to the crime scene. There was no other word for it, and she glanced back at the Corporal's body. Her last act had been to put a nail through the top of his spine, driving it into his brain stem. The death had been mercifully quick, considering she'd worked him over for more than two hours. Blood covered the plywood sheet, and he was barely recognizable as a human, and she shook her head as she made her way to the nearby airlock. Twenty seconds. Plenty of time. Fool should have never crossed her and fail to finish the job. She was in the airlock when the fire alarm went off, and she was halfway back to the officer quarters when the first responders made it to the scene. Everything had been done perfectly, and there was nothing tying her to the scene. She wondered how she was going to sleep tonight.

Well. She would sleep well. The meds would see to that...


	16. With Liberty and Justice

**AN: Well, I done been writing like a fiend during this break, and have not only this chapter done, but also the next one, too. So, with that in mind, the next update will happen in a week. This story is also starting to come to a close. 195 pages on Microsoft Word so far. It's been a good journey so far, and some of the best stuff is still to come. Thanks for those who have stuck around so far, and hopefully you'll see the rest of the story through.**

**Read, enjoy, and please review!**

WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE

He knew that it was coming. So why was it that he was still surprised when the four MPs entered the classroom two days after the incident, asking to see Lieutenant Storch? He eyed the men as Storch blinked at them, owlish in her shock. Two RDA, two EEF, an even division of the two forces on the base, coming to apprehend his platoon leader. The room had gone deadly silent, the rest of the platoon glaring at the four military police officers, who had the good grace (or was it the common sense?) to look nervous. Lieutenant Storch stood up, tall and proud. "May I ask what for?" she requested in a clear, calm, and steady voice.

"You are wanted for questioning in regards to the murder of one Corporal James Anderson," the highest ranking of the four, a Sergeant, replied.

Storch blinked, frowned, obviously trying to put a face with the name. Then her face cleared as she remembered, and she nodded. "If I may make a request, I would prefer to go with you without the indignity of handcuffs. I go with you willingly, and would like to be treated with the respect that my rank and position calls for. Also, if Sergeant First Class Yong-Sun Tan could accompany me, that would also be greatly appreciated." She kept her face and voice level the entire time, and Tan admired her for that. She was keeping cooler than he would have, most likely. Then again, he would also be worried about the shame that he was bringing upon his family's honor. Storch was only concerned with her own honor, and she knew quite well where she stood. "Do I need to turn in my sidearm?"

At this, the MPs grew even more uncomfortable, nervously darting their eyes about, particularly the RDA soldiers. Maybe they had been told to expect her to resist their requests. "Ah, no, ma'am, all you need to do is clear the pistol of all ammo. Sergeant Tan, do you swear to hold all her ammo and to not assist her in any way should she try to escape us?"

"On my honor as a Noncommissioned Officer, this I swear. If Lieutenant Storch tries to flee, I will assist in all ways possible to detain her, even if this means firing upon her with the intent to kill." It was hard to say it, but necessary. Storch nodded, and drew her pistol, quickly ejecting the magazine and pulling the slide back, catching the bullet before it escaped. She handed the clip and the round to him, and he pocketed it without a word before following her down to the waiting MPs, who nodded their thanks to her. Within minutes, they were in a truck, heading for the base police station. It was going to be a long day. The moment that they made it to the station, they were both required to surrender their sidearms and all ammo, and she was required to surrender any other weapons. Namely, her combat knife. She did all they asked, and once she was escorted into the questioning and he to the observation booth, she demanded that she be given a lawyer.

"But, ma'am, you aren't being charged with anything, we just want to ask some questions."

"I don't doubt that this is the case, but situations beyond any of our control may change, and my circumstances may change. I will not answer any of your questions without a lawyer." And so the entire process was stalled for an hour while one of the JAG lawyers was summoned. Once the man was seated next to Storch, she motioned for the MPs to continue. What followed amazed Tan. He was by heart an honest man, so watching her craftily make her lies astounded him. She was oh so very good at it.

"Ma'am, where were you on the evening of last Monday, two nights ago?"

"I was visiting Captain Elbelkacimi with Sergeant First Class Tan, Sergeant Elise Vanderbuilt, Staff Sergeant Nakamura, and Specialist Floyd."

"Why were you visiting this man?"

"I rescued him during the Battle of the Plains after his Samson crashed in front of friendly positions. The soldiers that I visited him with are soldiers with my platoon leadership element, and they had been present at the fight. I was ordered to assist Captain Elbelkacimi during his healing process as a method of goodwill between the RDA and the EEF. We're all here, fighting the same fight. Any rivalry is foolish."

"Do you know a Corporal James Anderson?"

"Yes. I met the man at the base Thai Dining Facility approximately three months ago. He approached me, asking if I would be interested in joining a running group with him, but I forcefully declined."

"Forcefully?"

"I told him to never speak to me again, Sergeant."

"I see. Did you encounter the man afterwards?"

"Yes. Possibly twice, but certainly for one other time."

"And what was the time that you definitely met him?"

"During the Battle of the Plains. I met him shortly prior to rescuing Captain Elbelkacimi. I was taking my platoon out to the left flank in support of the RDA positions, where I encountered Corporal Anderson. He had a wound on his leg, and I bandaged it for him. While his wound was likely not fatal even without immediate treatment, the fact that I was moving my platoon into the area undoubtedly saved his life."

"Why is it important that you saved his life?"

"If I am being questioned about my whereabouts on such and such a night after being called in to answer questions about the murder of Corporal Anderson, then I assume that I am a suspect in his murder." The only response to that accusation was an uncomfortable silence. "If I wanted to kill Anderson, then I could have easily done so on the battlefield, particularly in the circumstances that the battle presented. I bear no hatred towards the man, no reason to kill him. And if he was murdered, then I am particularly distraught that you accuse me of the murder. Why am I suspect? Murder is not the way to settle any issues that I may or may not have had with Corporal Anderson. Unless I was told otherwise, I would bring all issues with him through a military court, as mandated by law. Do you have any further questions, Sergeant?"

"We have no further questions."

"Am I free to go?"

"Ah, no, ma'am. We'll be keeping you here until the trial next Tuesday. Though what you have told us has proven most enlightening, you are thus far the only lead we have in this case. We were told be a well respected source that you were spotted leaving the crime scene." Tan's heart nearly stopped. How was that possible? She was so careful, and she had told him that she had met no one on the way back from the scene! Once again, however, he was amazed by Storch's poker face. She didn't start, didn't shift guiltily, she merely frowned as though insulted.

"Sergeant, I don't know who your source is, but surely they are mistaken, as I was with the people I mentioned above, visiting the man that I cited, certainly not wherever Anderson was getting murdered."

"Ma'am, I don't doubt that, but we'll just have to wait and see on the day of the trial. For now, you are being ordered to remain in the holding cells here in the police station. All your needs will be taken care of, ma'am."

Storch merely sighed, glancing up towards the observation booth where Tan sat. "No doubt, Sergeant. Could you tell Sergeant First Class Tan to report back to the platoon and to conduct business as usual?"

"Yes, ma'am, thank you for your cooperation, ma'am." The scraping of chairs against linoleum, and Tan stood slowly, prepared to spend the next handful of days in a constant state of worry. The future did not seem so secure. Would their stories hold under scrutiny? So much was at stake. The very least was his honor, the most was the life of the young woman who was being escorted from the room. He sighed heavily, preparing himself for the trial and the tribulations ahead. It was going to be a long week.

xxxXXXxxx

"Now presiding, the Honorable Judge George E. Clemens, Major, Earth Expeditionary Forces."

"Be seated." The muffled rumble of two hundred bodies sitting down, and Tan looked up to where Storch was calmly seated next to her defense attorney, resplendent in her black dress uniform that bore silver trim. Her attorney was clothed in the dark blue of the EEF. Normally Tan disliked the defense attorneys, as they got evil men off at lesser punishments or off scot free, but now he was ironically hoping that the man could do the very same thing that he hated. "First Lieutenant Ellen Storch, of the 3rd Platoon, Delta Company, 2nd Battalion, 4th Special Operations Group. Do you understand what you are doing here?"

"I have been charged with the murder of Corporal James Anderson, RDA Mercenary Companies."

"And you and your attorney have pleaded not guilty, is that correct?"

"That is correct, your honor," her attorney replied.

"Then let us proceed. Prosecution, what is your case?"

"Your honor, while we are respectful of Lieutenant Storch's position within the EEF and thankful for her actions during the Battle of the Plains, we have multiple sources claiming to have seen Lieutenant Storch fleeing the building where Corporal Anderson was so brutally tortured and killed shortly after the fire alarm was set off in the room where he was located. Not only that, but she is also suspect in the assassination of three other RDA mercenaries," the Prosecutor said before reading off the three names.

"Indeed. Do you have witnesses?"

"Yes, your honor, I do. The Prosecution calls Private Gonzalo Anton up to the stand." The next hour was spent as such, where the Prosecution called up the three witnesses, all three of them in the RDA, none of them ranked higher than Corporal. The Defense asked questions, trying to find flaws in the stories, but there were none. Whoever had gotten them was good, if their stories were fake. The details were right though. She had worn standard EEF PT clothes rather than her Special Forces PT uniform to blend in more, and they said as such. Maybe they had actually seen...

"Your honor, the Prosecution has only one more comment to make before we rest."

"And that is?"

"Certain parties would like to remind the jury that it is unwise to discredit the witnesses' testimony. These men are combat tested, have no debts, and are honest. They would not lie on a matter concerning the death of their comrade, especially not for a petty ideal such as revenge."

"Your opinion is superficial, sir, and will be stricken from the record. The jury knows its duty. Are you finished?"

"Yes your honor, I apologize, you honor. The Prosecution rests."

"We will take a two hour recess for lunch before the Defense takes the floor. Any objections?" None were sounded, and the judge banged his gavel, the sound echoing sharply through the room. "Dismissed." Tan stood, joined by the rest of the platoon, and he glanced over at the jury before freezing. The majority of them were RDA. If they were followers of Major Randall, their case might not count for anything. The trial could be rigged. That revelation buzzing in his head, the next two hours blew by, and he didn't remember eating anything before he found himself sitting back down in the stuffy courtroom. The judge entered, and he stood with everyone else, but found himself glancing towards the jury. Just one more thing to be worried about.

"You may be seated." He sat, with everyone else. "Defense, you may now commence."

"Thank you, your honor. The first evidence I'd like to offer are the three bullets used to kill the three soldiers who had accompanied Corporal Anderson. Careful tests of Lieutenant Storch's sidearm reveals that while the two are the same caliber, these bullets were not fired by her firearm. Your honor, I'd like to ask that Lieutenant Storch report to the witness stand." The judge motioned his acquiescence, and Storch made her way to the seat. After she swore the oath to speak the truth and nothing but, the attorney went on with his case. "Ma'am, in light of the fact that your pistol did not fire the bullets used to kill the three other soldiers, would you have been able to procure another sidearm with which to kill them, say, from another soldier?"

"Not without stealing it, no. We are trained from day one to never relinquish our weapons to another soldier except in the most dire of situations, specifically to prevent something like this."

"Thank you, ma'am. Now, where were you the evening of the Monday in question?"

"I was visiting Captain Elbelkacimi of the..."

The questions continued like that for the rest of her time on the witness stand. After the attorney finished questioning her, he turned to the judge. "Your honor, I'd like to show more evidence that I introduced earlier, namely the security cameras from the hospital." He got the go ahead. Tan was honestly impressed. PFC Willow Claire was extremely good with computers and coding, and she had managed to splice into the hospital security site, and was able to graft Storch's face onto her own. They were less than an inch different in height, and were quite similar in body build. Plus, though PFC Claire's hair was slightly longer, it was the same color. Claire had come along during the visit to Captain Elbelkacimi, and had looked straight at a camera for a split second. That split second was now frozen on screen, Storch's face perfectly laid over Claire's face. It was stunning at how uncanny it was. The next two hours was spent questioning hospital staff, who said that while they didn't get a good look at the group of Special Forces soldiers, the group did indeed come at the particular times, and there was a sandy haired woman in the group, as seen on the security cameras.

Captain Elbelkacimi was brought in and interviewed, the sharpness of his uniform only accentuated by the crutches he was forced to use. His only hiccup had been demanding that the holy book he swore on was the Quran and not the Bible, but after that he answered all questions he was asked to satisfaction. Yes, the young lady in question visited him at the hospital, she had been visiting him every Monday since she was released from the hospital, bringing him better food from outside, bringing him books, keeping him motivated. She was a truly wonderful woman who could never do such a-

"Objection!" the Prosecuting Attorney snapped, voice exasperated, and the judge sustained it, reminding Elbelkacimi to stay on topic. The court dealt with facts, not suppositions. Captain Elbelkacimi apologized, and continued as questioned. Finally, he was released, and the Defense Attorney turned to the jury.

"So you can see, gentlemen, not only does Lieutenant Storch have substantive and conclusive evidence supporting that she was nowhere near the building where Anderson was found murdered, but that she was with not only respected members of the EEF Army but also the RDA Mercenary Companies. However, I do have one question for the Prosecution. You seem adamant that Lieutenant Storch is the killer, but you have not given substantial reason why. She bears no grudge against Anderson, and though she told him to leave her alone once, their second meetings resulted in her saving his life. Not the actions of a killer, but that of a savior! There is no reason for her to want to kill Anderson, so not only is the Prosecution relying on eyewitness accounts, one of the faultiest versions of evidence as history clearly shows, but they lack any motive tying her to the crime. Gentlemen, the outcome is clear. For whatever unknown reason, someone in the RDA either bears a grudge directly against Lieutenant Storch or against the EEF as a whole, and now they are trying to use her as a scapegoat. Keep that in mind while you make your decision."

"Objection!"

"Sustained. Defense, you will keep opinions to yourself. However, your claim about the lack of motive is a valid concern, as is your claim about eyewitness accounts. The court will now retire until the members of the jury make a decision. Dismissed." A bang of the gavel, and Tan stood, wanting desperately to stretch his legs. He walked out into the main lobby of the courthouse, suddenly sick of the austere military architecture. He wanted to see his familial home, cramped though it was. He wanted to see the mountains of his home country, even if they were devoid of vegetation. He wanted to see his mother, his father, and he wondered if they could be proud of what he had done, what he was a part of. Yes, he was part of the military that was going to save their planet, but he was also an accessory to murder...a _big_ accessory. Plus, how Storch had killed Anderson...he had seen pictures of his body as presented by the Prosecution earlier in the trial, and even he felt queasy, veteran of multiple wars that he was. How could she do that to a person and then go on about her life as though nothing had happened?

That was the part that bothered him the most. In the days following the incident and prior to her arrest, she went about her schedule like nothing had happened, like she hadn't spent multiple hours cutting and crushing and burning another human being to death. He didn't like it, didn't like what he had helped turn his platoon leader into. When she was a leader, she was a fine human being, devoting her considerable willpower to getting the job done while keeping her troops as safe as possible. She'd pick up any task and get it done. Now that she was a killer...she scared him. The coldness within her heart and soul literally scared him. There was something in her past that was dark and horrifying, some events that made her capable of turning of her humanity and turn into a machine of pain and death. And he helped her, helped wake up that darkness. When he had agreed to help her, he didn't think that she'd torture Anderson, just that she'd kill him, collect the spent shell casings, and get out. No, she had cut him open like a frog in a high school science lab. Each action had been deliberately thought out, applied for the most pain. The curling iron, the nail file used as an impromptu catheter, the removed testes, the torn off fingernails, the major joints crushed with a hammer...that was a level of torture that he had hoped had died out, but he should have known better.

_And he had helped her_! Why couldn't she have done the right thing and simply shot him in the head? Why did she view it necessary to prolong his inevitable demise? There was no justice in that, merely revenge. And now, she was going to go free as long as the jury wasn't rigged, free to do even more damage. He suddenly and quite desperately missed the Lieutenant Storch from before she was raped. Why did Anderson have to do it? He sighed heavily, feeling sick to his stomach.

"Ah, please excuse, Sergeant...are you Sergeant First Class Tan?" a beautiful voice asked, and he turned to see a tall and statuesque Russian woman in dress blues, an officer's uniform. He snapped to attention and she motioned him to relax. "I am Second Lieutenant Tanja Artyomov...I am being," she paused, searching for the right word, "friend? Yes, friend to Ellen Storch."

"Ah, yes, ma'am, I recognize you." That, at least, was good. Storch had found this lovely young lady to bed, which proved in the very least that she wasn't going antisocial.

"I am having concern over Ellen, Sergeant," she murmured softly, stepping closer to him, voice difficult to hear over the noise of the crowd that had poured from the courtroom and into the lobby. "Other night, Ellen told me stories of her past, and what she said is secret between us. I am worried, though. She said that she could be killer again if need be, and then you hear terrible news, man murdered and killed in way that would make ancient Russians proud, killed in way that would make Rasputin wish he not immortal, yes?" He blinked, not familiar with the reference, but she went on. "If I am right in thinking, maybe Storch being woman who killed him. I worry, because Storch hero and good woman, but if man to cross her, very bad news. I no want to break her trust in me, so I go to you, her closest soldier, rather than police. But while she up in stand, her eyes like ice, like diamond, no warmth, no emotion, not girl I like. Someone else in same body."

"Yes, ma'am, I get the same feeling. I think it's up to the two of us to bring the Storch we admire back. I didn't join to serve a robot killer, I joined to serve a leader of soldiers!" A bell chimed, and people started filing back into the courtroom. "Let's see if we'll have anyone to serve come tomorrow." He made his way back to his seat, and stood at attention until he was told to be seated. The jury filed in, and one of them stood while the others took seats.

"We the jury do find the defendant...not guilty," the man solemnly reported, and Tan sighed with relief, a sentiment shared be roughly half of those in the packed courtroom, while he heard some of the RDA mercenaries muttering angrily, some of them right behind him growling that this was horseshit and that the bitch had to pay. He turned around, fixing the two RDA troopers with his hardest glare, but they glared right back, refusing to back down.

"Sir!" Storch's clear voice cut over the sound of the general confusion of the crowd, and everyone quieted down, curious to hear what she had to say. If they had been hoping for something controversial, they were disappointed. "Permission to retrieve my sidearm and resume my assigned duties, sir."

"Granted. And, ah, Lieutenant, I don't want to see you in my courtroom again."

"Sir, I will try my hardest."

"See that you do." He banged his gavel. "Court is dismissed." The entire room stood and snapped to attention, and the judge returned the favor before turning and leaving the room. Once he was gone, however, the noise exploded as the crowd began to move out of the room, and Storch made her way to Lieutenant Artyomov and him, her eyes narrowing slightly and the corners of her mouth tightening once she saw that the two of them together.

"Lieutenant, Sergeant," she nodded in greeting, voice crisp and lacking her usual warmth. "What's the training schedule look like?"

"Ah, ma'am, we are scheduled to work with the newest unit that came in, the Twelfth Battalion, Forty-Seventh Infantry Regiment...the Brits Battalion. From what I can tell, our company is being split up to support individual battalions, and Third Platoon is now considered an attachment to the Twelfth, unless otherwise stated."

"Very good, that's a solid unit to be with, I enjoyed training with them back on Earth." Her hazel eyes flicked over to Artyomov. "Tanja, might I ask what you're doing?"

Though Storch's tone was frosty, the Russian Lieutenant didn't back down, though she did look slightly uncomfortable. "I am speaking with Sergeant First Class Tan."

"What about?" Now there was a definite hint of warning in her voice, and Tan felt himself loosen up, ready to snap into action if he needed to. Now Artyomov looked distinctly uncomfortable, licking her lips and glancing away from Storch.

"She told me something that she was concerned about," Tan answered in place of Artyomov, hardening his voice in response to Storch's unfriendly tone. "Something that she could have gone to the Military Police about, but she chose not to because of her dedication to her friends."

Something dark and ugly flashed through Storch's eyes before they returned to a hardened passivity again, and she nodded curtly. "Indeed." She jerked her head towards the door. "Let's talk about the upcoming training schedule, Sergeant." Then she turned and began walking, not even sparing Artyomov a glance. Tan shrugged apologetically to her before jogging after Storch, resolving to talk to her about proper behavior from an officer to her peers later.

As luck would have it, later turned out to be an hour later, once they had reached the 4th Special Operations Group Command Building. Only a ten minute walk from either the enlisted or the officer barracks and not too far from the DFAC that was generally used by the 4th SOG, it was made up of offices for the officers of the unit, a small fitness center, the supply rooms for the 4th, a handful of classrooms and briefing rooms, and some other minor rooms. Storch had been given a small and private office, though as more units came in, she would most likely lose it to a company commander. But for now, she still had it, and she beckoned him into it, closing the door behind them before locking it. It was a relatively soundproof door that lacked any sort of window, and the entire building had been swept for electronic surveillance. Unless they started shouting, the conversation would remain private.

"What did she tell you, Sergeant?" she asked, voice cold as she walked around her small desk, sitting down in the worn office chair, motioning for him to do the same.

"She told me that you told her about your past, though she kept all details to herself, so your privacy has remained untarnished. Something about the way you worded something you said tipped her off, and so when Anderson was brutally tortured and then killed," he made no effort to keep his disgust out of his voice at the mentioning of Anderson's fate, "she put two and two together. Luckily for you, she came to me instead of the authorities, so you should be bowing to her generous insight, asking forgiveness for how you treated her in the courtroom."

"Sergeant, you have no right to make such an insinuation! I told her those things in secret, and the first chance she got, she started to tell everyone that she wanted-!"

He slammed his fist down onto the desk. "_I_ don't have the right?" he snapped. "The hell I don't have the right! _You_ didn't have the right to torture Anderson to death! Regardless of what the little fuck did in life, there is no honor in torture, only a dark mark on your soul that will never go away!"

"He _raped_ me, Tan!"

"That doesn't matter!" he snarled, fighting to keep his voice low. "You were supposed to go in, kill him, and get out! I didn't ask for your plans once, so that I could claim that we were training for a certain contingencies, hostage rescue, something like that! Plausible deniability, yes? I did not expect to become accessory to a crime worse than what he did to you!"

She shot out of her seat, teeth clenched, two red blotches on her cheeks, the result of her anger. "How _dare_ you, you sunovabitch! That motherfucker _raped_ me, raped so many other women just to get off on his own power, and you're saying I wasn't justified in what I did?" she ground out, eyes bright with rage.

He rose out of his own seat, refusing to back down. He took a couple of deep calming breaths, fighting to rein in his anger, desperately trying to reach a calmer state of mind. Anger roused by other anger was never a good thing. "Ma'am, when we first met on Earth, you told me that you would respect my judgment, that you would come to me for guidance, look to me to nudge you back on the correct path. Well, now you are pretty far off the path, and consider this my warning as your platoon sergeant: get back on the right path, be an exceptional leader again, or I will turn you in for the torture and murder of Corporal Anderson, and damn the consequences. I have enough evidence that would see you executed, and I don't want that to happen! You mean too much to the platoon, to what we're doing here on this moon, but you can't be a killer and get the job done that needs to be done. You have forty killers underneath your command, you don't need to be one, either." Without another word, he snapped to attention, paused, did an about face, and let himself out of the small office. Now more than ever he hoped that Storch would come back to herself. He did not want to be the one to turn in the woman who he would have gladly followed into hell until hell began to reside in her soul. He would never be able to forgive himself if he had to do such a thing. Hand resting on the doorknob, he sighed heavily. _With liberty and justice, as the Americans say...where is the liberty in this situation, where is the justice? Nowhere to be found, save for the business end of a firearm. What trying times these are..._


	17. Chess Moves

**AN- Like I said, I am updating today. Happy December, everyone! My semester is drawing to a blessed close, I'm done with ROTC class and PT until next semester, and the rest of my classes are drawing to a close. Not only that, but my little brother officially graduates from Army Infantry school today, and he will be up here visiting next week. I am totally looking forward to that.**

**So, this chapter features Treleaven, but I also included a fight scene just for you! Have to keep things exciting, now, don't I? Good news is to be had, as well! The next chapter is done to completion, and will be updated a week from today. I also have approximately 1,500 words done on the next next chapter, so hopefully I will get that done by next week.** **The stage is being set for the final confrontation now. Hopefully you all enjoy.**

**READ, ENJOY, AND PLEASE REVIEW!**

CHESS MOVES

"It's not safe for her right now." The voice was soft, secretive, and General Treleaven glanced at Colonel Reed, who had come into his office with Captain Burns. "She's damn clever, and played the game right when she killed Anderson."

General Treleaven snorted softly, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow. "What about the trial proving her innocence?"

"Sir, let's be serious. Who else besides a highly trained special operations soldier could pull off an operation like that? Very few people currently on this base, that's who. And who amongst the 4th SOG besides Lieutenant Storch had a credible grudge against the little shit? No one. She killed him, make no mistake. Plus, if you look at surveillance cameras at the fitness center where people can practice hand-to-hand training, you'll notice a dramatic increase in time put in by Lieutenant Storch and her soldiers, something she didn't do until after the Battle of the Plains. She's always fought against men, never a woman, and often fought against groups of soldiers of similar build to those who were killed the night of Anderson's killing. Take into further consideration that whenever she reserved the ranges, the security cameras were shut off."

Treleaven frowned. "Isn't that illegal?"

Captain Burns grimaced slightly. "Technically, yes sir, it is. Lieutenant Colonel MacDougal signed an order that allowed for SOG soldiers to use the ranges with the cameras off because of the sensitive nature of some of our training. He signed this order shortly after Lieutenant Storch asked for and got permission to speak to him privately."

"Good heavens. How many people were involved in Anderson's killing?"

Burns winced. "Oh, hell, sir, I couldn't say for certain. Sergeant First Class Tan, Lieutenant Storch, Captain Elbelkacimi and some soldiers from his company, probably, soldiers from Storch's platoon, particularly those who helped her train up for the assassination, probably whoever she got some of her devices from. Most of them were reported missing and or stolen in the weeks leading up to the assassination, of course, but that's more likely to be a cover story than any truth. Possibly Lieutenant Colonel MacDougal, especially if he knew why Storch requested that he sign that order. For that matter, MacDougal, Colonel Reed here, and you were all present when you suggested that someone take care of Anderson, so we could probably be implicated of accessory. All told, more than a dozen soldiers and officers, from the lowest private all the way up to our commanding officer, sir, and that is, of course, you."

Treleaven leaned back in his chair, comforted by its wearied groan. It was days like this that he felt like joining in on that groan. "Was the trial rigged by our people?"

Colonel Reed spoke up this time. "No sir, not that we've been able to ascertain. The jury was stacked to favor the RDA, but after that stunt that Randall pulled after the battle, it wasn't enough. He's lost a _lot_ of followers, but the ones still loyal are all the crazier for it. No, Storch got off because of how thorough she was. Her background isn't from a decent military family, is it?"

Burns flipped open a dossier, and shook his head. "Nope. Ah, sorry, I meant 'no, ma'am.'" When Reed waved him on to continue with a roll of her eyes, he did so with a stoic face. "Early childhood was in an orphanage that was lacking in funds and space, and she had a lot of disciplinary action for reacting negatively to teasing because of the fact that her parents weren't dead, they abandoned her. She went to only a few foster homes that never worked out, partly because of her stubborn personality and intelligent mind, before she disappeared off the social aspect of life, save for high school. Reportedly a delinquent, but she never missed a day of class, never got in trouble, and got high marks in everything. But by then she wasn't part of the orphanage and had no foster parents or adopted parents. No record of a home address. She paid for her school lunches and got high marks and was dressed in clean clothes, according to the school counselor, and was always respectful to the teachers and authority figures, so they never pressed the issue." He paused, reading onwards, his mouth tightening before he continued.

"The school suspected that she was part of a gang, based on what people she spent time with, but they could never prove anything. Then she disappears completely, and has a lot of records sealed from view. The next time she shows up, she's enlisting in New York City. She completes high school while completing basic training, and it's the fact that she didn't have a high school education that shifted her to the infantry. Thank God for that, she's a good leader."

"And a brutal killer," Treleaven remarked with dry wit.

"That's the thing, sir, she isn't. Any skill that led to killing or hurting another human being, she passed at the minimum to get into what she wanted. First the infantry, then OCS, and finally into SOG. That's been consistent with her entire military history, and it has been noted on. She wants to serve her nation, lead men to glory, whatever. Historically speaking, she doesn't want to kill. Given her background, she probably joined the military to prove herself and to be a part of a family. She likes it in the Army."

"So, she doesn't want to kill unless someone really cheeses her off," Reed asked, eyebrow quirked.

"I'm not a psychologist or psychiatrist, ma'am, but I think it goes a bit beyond cheesing off. Anderson raped and beat her, and if he hadn't been interrupted by Storch's platoon sergeant, it would have turned into a gang rape that involved severe internal injuries as well as significant psychological damage. Four other female soldiers went through this same fate from a group with the same modus operandi, and two of those four were raped. All of them are on indefinite leave, and have or will be returning to Earth. Her methods were...questionable...but she took out a credible threat to other women, at the cost of her own safety."

"Yes, you mentioned that it's not safe for her on this base. What makes you say that?"

"Lieutenant Storch was attacked last night while in a DFAC." Burns' words were delivered sharply, and Treleaven blinked. "Only a week after the trial, and she was attacked by four RDA mercenaries who are still sympathetic to Major Randall."

Treleaven leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "Is she alright?" he asked, real concern coloring his voice. The two in front of them surprised him with their reaction, however. Burns snorted and they glanced at each other, slightly amused expressions on their faces. "Oh. Are _they_ alright?"

Burns held up a data chip. "From the security cameras at the DFAC. There's no sound, but we have the official MP report, so we'll explain in depth later." Treleaven took the chip and slotted it into his computer. What he saw astounded him. Storch had been sitting at the officer's table with a mixture of RDA and EEF officers when the four RDA personnel approached her seat from behind. One of them said something, Storch replied, and the man jumped forward, punching forward with a tightly clenched fist. There was a sharp blur of movement as Storch spun to her right, and he watched as her right hand hissed out and caught the man's fist. She used his momentum and her spin to pull him forward and down. The back of her chair caught him in the upper abdomen and her left hand grabbed the back of his jacket before pushing down hard and brutally fast. Her assailant's head struck the table full force, and it snapped back, Treleaven wincing in sympathy. Before he had the chance to even attempt to recover, she let go with her left hand before slamming what looked like a palm strike into the man's triceps while twisting and pulling with her right hand. His shoulder would have been at the very least dislocated by that strike. Her final attack on the poor soldier was kicking the top of the chair that he was still laying on top of, and it toppled over, his body rolling bonelessly onto the linoleum floor.

The other three had been caught off balance by the ferocity and ruthlessness of the strike, and they hesitated long enough for Storch to grab a mug of coffee of the table before splashing its contents into the face of the one female RDA mercenary in the bunch. Treleaven hissed. The DFAC coffee was served almost boiling hot, and the woman reeled back, clutching her face, most likely screaming. Storch then grabbed a tray from the table and hurled the food on it at one of the remaining two, who whipped his arms up to bat the plate, bowl, cups, food, and drink away. It was opening enough for her to come in, face a furious mask as she whipped around, putting as much force behind the strike that she was making with the tray that she still held. She caught the man along the temple and the ear with the tray. It hit him hard enough to daze and slightly spin him, his guard dropping as Storch reversed her swing and then came around for the second strike, hitting him in the throat with the tray, edge first.

The last merc managed to react fast enough to attack her before she could recover fast enough to engage him with the first strike. But then, she didn't need to. She dropped the tray, and in a move straight out of a judo movie, she neatly caught his wrist, and twisted and pulled, directing his momentum around and over her body rather than through it. The man flipped through the air, landing heavily on his back, and she twisted his arm around so that he naturally rolled over onto his front before she kicked him as hard as she could in the shoulder joint, leading with her the toe of her combat boots while she jerked his arm around. That would have broken his shoulder. Then she kicked him in the head.

By now, the coffee girl had shrugged off the pain enough to start fumbling for her sidearm, but then a mountain of a man seemed to appear right next to her, and he picked her up and threw her bodily into a wall. In less than two minutes, all four were down and out, the DFAC in chaos, with Storch shouting for something...something that turned out to be a first aid bag from the management office. He watched as she intubated the soldier she had hit in the neck with the tray, probably saving his life in the end. That blow would have crushed his trachea, and only intubating him would keep oxygen flowing to his lungs. The moment that she had that completed, she was up and backing away, hands raised peacefully, and she was almost immediately surrounded by other SOG soldiers, as well as some EEF regulars and RDA mercenaries, all of whom looked into the shocked and confused crowd defiantly. They only parted way for two MPs, who handcuffed and led Storch away. The video ended.

"What happened?" he asked, a sickening curiosity niggling at him.

"The first merc to attack suffered a bruised diaphragm and sternum, as well as a torn rotator cuff and dislocated shoulder, and a severe concussion. The female suffered the least, with first degree burns to the face and to the upper chest, as well as heavy bruising and a minor concussion from when she hit the wall. The one attacked by the tray required eighteen stitches from the first blow to his head as well as a hairline fracture to the skull, resulting in a severe concussion. The second blow crushed his trachea, which lead to severe swelling. He's still on life support. The third male suffered the worst concussion, a ruptured ear drum, a broken jaw, a broken shoulder blade and humerus, plus the dislocated shoulder. All three men will require surgery before returning to duty.

"Storch?"

"Cooperated fully with the investigation, and was let off on self-defense. The group threatened her with death for 'killing and torturing Anderson, you fucking whore' to quote the first RDA mercenary. She told them to leave her alone or she'd have to hurt them. They didn't listen."

"Who was the tank at the end?"

"That is Warrant Officer Grigori Senko, one of the new arrivals. SOG Avatar driver, skilled sniper and assassin. No joke outside of an Avatar body, either. He didn't take kindly to the attack on a Special Operations Officer. He was let off with a warning."

"And you said that she wasn't safe here? I get the notion that the _RDA_ aren't safe while she's here."

"Sir, that may very well be true, but what if they hit her with six people next time...or eight? What if they decide to screw teaching her a lesson and just shoot her dead?"

Treleaven nodded. "Considering that you two came in here with all of this planned through, what do you suggest?"

"Scheißberg Hill. Send Delta Company to hold Scheißberg Hill."

"Scheißberg Hill?" he asked, tone incredulous. "'Shit Mountain' Hill? Who came up with that bloody name?"

"Ah, my apologies, sir, Hill 421. It's that Forward Operations Post that can hold approximately two hundred men at full capacity, and-"

"I know what Scheißberg Hill is, I was just amused by the name. Who came up with it? It's the first time I've heard of this new name for it."

"Ah, a German Engineering platoon that was working on the initial construction. They said something along the lines that the hill was a mountain of shit. Anyway, by your order, we've been maintaining a skeleton crew out there, just a platoon of RDA troopers that we considered to be more loyal to Earth than to Randall. The...1st Platoon, Bravo Company, 25th Mercenary Battalion, approximately forty soldiers. Captain Burns is happily willing to take his company to the FOP, as well as a platoon of Army Engineers, led by one Lieutenant Artyomov. RDA traditionally operate the crew served weapons permanently placed at the FOP, while Burns' company will man the perimeter and add his weapons platoon to the RDA effort. The engineering platoon will work on improving the defenses."

Treleaven nodded. "A sound plan. I'm worried, however, this post is dangling quite a ways out there. While we do have a quick reaction force capable of getting out there, the post can go a full hour before reinforcements arrive, isn't that right? The base is thirty-nine miles away, that's barely within the limits of our MLRS artillery, and out of the limits of all of our other artillery. What happens if we lose contact?"

"Sir, that's highly unlikely. And even if the long range radio was destroyed, we conduct radio checks every four hours, just in case, and the radio is the most fortified building in the outpost."

"I see. So the FOP that is out on the easiest avenue of approach for the Na'vi forces can go as long five hours without any kind of support? Two hundred humans against ten thousand Na'vi warriors for five hours. I'm not sure I quite like that idea. British history is full of small forces being cut off by superior forces with little hope of reinforcements."

"Sir, I understand that, but Scheißberg Hill literally has more defenses per square foot than Heaven's Pass. The Na'vi would have an easier time taking this base than they would that outpost."

Treleaven sighed heavily, steepling his fingers together. "So what does that mean, if they manage to take this outpost?" He brought up the plans for Scheißberg Hill on his computer, staring at it thoughtfully. It really did have an astounding number of defenses. Napalm buried in 55 gallon drums, pungee sticks, barbed wire, concertina wire, tangle foot, mine fields, claymore antipersonnel mines, seven mortars, ranging from the light 60mm to the heavy 120mm, GAU 19 .50 caliber tri-barreled rotary machine guns, .50 caliber anti-material rifles, a total of eight general purpose machine guns, in 8mm, two 20mm Vulcan radar controlled anti-aircraft batteries. Only one real way up to the outpost entrance. And that wasn't including support from Heaven's Pass. Even if the Na'vi did manage to take the post, they would pay dearly for it. It was a sound plan to get Storch out of the frying pan. He just hoped that he wasn't sending her into the fire. Sometimes he truly hated war. He was playing chess, only with human lives, and the enemy pieces were oftentimes obscured or hidden. And now he was possibly sacrificing his queen, putting his only full SOG company out in enemy territory.

"We will do it. And if this goes terribly wrong, you two, this was my idea. I will take responsibility for this decision, if things go terribly wrong. However, if things go well for us, I will properly acknowledge you two."

"...sir?" Reed asked, eyes questioning.

"I daresay that it is high time that I start taking responsibility for the affair that started with a suggestion on my part. Up until now, I've been able to deny any part in this horrible business, and it is time that that stops. Colonel Reed, you are the senior officer in this entire military operation under me. If things go terribly wrong, you are the next in command. I received the orders with the group that just came in. In the event of my inability to command the EEF, you are to be promoted to Brigadier General and assume command."

"And if Major Randall is still around?"

Treleaven grinned a cold and vicious grin. "If that bastard is still around, he won't have many supporters, considering the path that he is going down. Shoot the bastard in the head. He is a belligerent and crazy individual who will be a hindrance towards peace on this moon. He will continue fighting until the war destroys both sides. He's a bloody liability. Kill him. No more 'someone should just maybe take the bloke out' or some shite like that. I'm saying it right now. If something happens to me, natural or otherwise, kill him. Bloody bastard is my burden to bear, not yours."

Burns and Reed nodded before standing to attention and saluting. Treleaven clambered to his feet, ignoring the ache in his back and in his hips as he returned the salute, palm out in the British style. No more tiptoeing around what had to be done. Even if it killed him, he would do what he needed to do not only to win the war but also to ensure the survival the Na'vi. There was no other option.


	18. Doesn't Add Up

**AN: Yay, Thursday update. The next chapter is not yet done, as finals and papers have been kicking my butt. I'll try and get the next chapter done for next week. Sorry for the short AN, I'm pretty busy right now. I'm sure that some of my readers will be delighted to see good ol' Norm Spellman make an appearance in this chapter. I feel kinda bad about not including him in all this time save for the most basic of mentionings, but what'll ya do?**

**Read, enjoy, and please review!**

DOESN'T ADD UP

Everyone on the gun range in Hell's Gate could tell that Harrison was not happy. Not happy at all. Generally the legendary former mercenary and current messenger to the EEF preferred accuracy above rate of fire, so it was rather unusual to see him laying behind a machine gun, pumping long bursts down range, tearing apart targets with a steely determination about his face and eyes. His...ah...disagreement with Trudy Chacon was no secret, though neither of them had really talked about either the cause of the conflict nor about the fight itself, but a pissed of Trudy Chacon was about as subtle as a brick to the face. A pissed off Harrison was just plain scary. No doubt his sour mood was heightened by the fact that Trudy was openly sleeping with Norm Spellman and pretty much just ignoring Harrison. Their only interaction with each other was through their daughter, who was the most visibly distressed by the entire ordeal.

He finished off the belt, the barrel radiating heat as he picked up the weapon and brought it off the range and back towards the cleaning room. No one talked to him, and anyone in his path of travel scampered out of the way. He did not speak for the next hour that he spent cleaning the weapon, nor did he talk while he returned the weapon to the rack and left the range. It was raining heavily, torrential sheets of water that slammed into the ground, fogging up exopacks, soaking even through the best rain gear so that some people forced to go outside generally preferred wearing normal clothing. All aircraft were grounded, and communications to either the Na'vi or the EEF were severely hindered. As it was, foggy exopack notwithstanding, Hell's Gate seemed to be on its own little world, the outside environment not visible through the heavy rain. Hell, as it was, he could barely see the looming and massive shapes of the other buildings in the once proud and mighty base.

He stumbled against the rain and the heavy wind, leaning into the dense air as it roared against him, threatening to push him over. He grit his teeth against it, and pushed through, refusing to give way. After an exhausting five minutes, he finally made it to the airlock leading to the central buildings, and he entered it with a groan of relief. He was soaked, dripping water onto the floor, but he didn't care. His boots had held, and his socks and feet were dry. So long as his feet were dry, he could carry on through the shithole that his life had turned into. The airlock pressurized and hissed open, and he walked into the main corridor, only to bump into Norm Spellman. The man fell backwards onto his fourth point of contact, his rain slickers squealing against the deck as he slid a little. "Ah...Harrison, I, uh, was sent to, y'know, to..." the researcher stammered, eyes darting around nervously. Just as it was no secret that Trudy was sexing up the lanky scientist, it was also no secret that Norm was scared to death of Harrison, and avoided him like the plague...if the plague knew how to make death happen with a variety of sharp pointy things.

Harrison just sighed wearily, and held out his hand. Norm annoyed him only because he was awkwardly geeky, not because of his role in the current shit sandwich. He couldn't be mad at the man for being the tool that Trudy was using to get at him. That would be petty. Norm took his hand, eyes conveying stark fear, as though Harrison was only getting ready to pull him up into a waiting fist. He rolled his eyes. "Norm, take a deep, deep breath. I'm not going to hurt you. I have no reason _to_ hurt you. Now tell me what you were sent to tell me in your most visually appealing rain slickers to tell me. By the way, neon green is _totally_ your color."

Okay, so maybe he was being snarky as hell. However, his dry wit didn't allay Norm's fears in the slightest, and he looked down at the brightly colored rubbers with a panicked look. "Th-they said that, ah, I-I'd be easier to see if I g-got lost, b'cause of the weather, a-and..."

Harrison groaned. Norm could be incredibly brave, if he worked himself up to it. No coward would willingly charge into an RDA firing line with nothing but a bunch of other Na'vi armed with bows while the RDA were bringing their considerable arsenal out to play. Hell, Harrison was on the receiving end of that charge, and he couldn't help but think of Lord Tennyson's 'Charge of the Light Brigade' while he had been shooting at the fearless and rather foolish attack. That said, he also wouldn't have been either brave enough or dumb enough to commit to such an attack. It had been suicidal. He was not into the whole suicidal thing. But Norm...he admired the geeky sum'bitch. He was probably the smartest person on the base, currently, and he was the subject matter expert on a variety of subjects, including the Pandoran flora and fauna, as well as Na'vi culture and language. Over the eleven years spent in waiting, he had actually had a great deal of fun reciting Rudyard Kipling poems and some Shakespeare to Norm in Na'vi, for practice, and they had even had light hearted debates. Harrison taught Norm how to fight, and Norm taught Harrison more about the Na'vi. Harrison knew that he was 'just a grunt' and that he was nowhere near as smart as Norm was, but he had a lot more common sense than the scientist. And while Harrison wasn't as smart, he certainly wasn't stupid, and enjoyed intellectual stimulation. Plus, Norm could play a mean game of basketball.

He grabbed the babbling man by the shoulders and shook him. "Norm! Stop being such a damn candy-ass about this! I've seen you get so involved in a task that it literally took a pissed off Titanothere to break your willingness to go through with it. You ain't a fucking coward, so stop acting like one! I ain't gonna hurt you, and don't blame you for being a piece in the fucked up game that Trudy is playing, and I never will. Now, what is it that you need to tell me?"

He didn't know if it was his angry tirade or the snarling crack of good old NCO authority that he put into his voice, but Norm finally focused. "We, ah, got a message from Hell's Gate, and it was addressed to Jake, as delivered by you and Trudy's team."

He blinked. "From Treleaven?"

"No, Max said that it wasn't from Treleaven's normal address or router. Someone else. It's encrypted, but whoever did that job was pretty amateur about it. One of the techies said that she'd be able to crack it in a jiffy if you'd like."

"Encrypted? And they're sending it to Jake Sully? Sully, who is about as bass ackwards about technology as his wife? He can handle normal computer operations, but you start getting into encryptions, and that boy is lost."

"Yeah, it's run on a voice recognition pattern. Overmeyer said that it's not even designed to ignore computer generated audio recordings, so we can open it really quickly if we need to."

Harrison sighed heavily, and gestured down the hall, towards the command center, goading Norm to lead him on. So much for that warm shower...

xxxXXXxxx

Trudy barely glanced at the two men as they walked into the room. Harrison, lean, muscled, the body of a seasoned warrior, with barely an ounce of spare fat on his body, thanks to his Spartan diet and Olympian physical regime. Even though he was in his mid-forties now, he was still considered to be walking sex by the majority of the female populace on the base, herself included. Norm, gawky, skinny, had some muscle, but it wasn't nearly as pronounced as with Harrison. Not considered to be walking sex by the majority of the female populace. However, she knew from experience that once he got over the whole nervous awkwardness, he was a considerate lover. Certainly enough to leave her satisfied, but Harrison still had him beat in that department. Where Norm was undoubtedly cute, especially when he tried to take over mid-coitus (still hadn't succeeded to date), Harrison was mind blowing. Bastard had to not only be considerate, but he could effortlessly take charge and did things that made her tingle with the memory of low lighting, tangled limbs, sweaty bodies, and pleasure flowing through every inch of her body. To put it simply, Norm had to try to keep the orgasm ratio three to one, in her favor. Harrison didn't have to try, and his average was four to one, though he could occasionally get it as high as five or six to one. Man, she was always exhausted after those nights...and now she couldn't have that level of sinfully sexual nights because of their conflicting personalities.

Therein lay the problem. Norm was cute, and she really did like the guy, and he tried so hard to make her happy, but he wasn't Harrison. Unfortunately, Harrison was always going to be having an affair with the bitch Duty and her whore sister Honor. Not only that, but their personalities clashed at times. Kinda like oil and water. When things weren't all heated up and stressful, nothing bad was happening. However, bring in the flames of conflict, and you'd better have the fire department on call. They were both incredibly stubborn, and they both knew it. They also both knew that their way was the right way, and if those two ways didn't coincide, there would be head-butting galore. Like now. And there was also that time three years into the human expulsion from Pandora where she said something he didn't like, he said something to show his point of view, she snapped at him, things escalated, and it took a full nine months before they spoke to each other again, agreeing to disagree. And that issue was painfully miniscule when compared to the current argument. Plus, there wasn't a massive war going on back then, either, especially not one where she supported one side, and he supported the other.

That was the particularly painful thing about it. She knew that he was actually the one in the right in this situation. She was being callous and petty and overall a fool when she refused to side with the humans. Attempting to protect the Na'vi by writing the humans off to die was mind numbingly criminal. She tried to imagine Hannah back on Earth, slowly being poisoned to death because someone wasn't willing to make the decision to save her people because a group of belligerent aliens got in the way. How did Harrison put it that one time? Ah, yes. 'I am willing to go to hell so that my children and their children can live in heaven.' He backed up those words. If the Na'vi completely refused to cooperate and continued to fight against the survival of the human species, he would kill them until the last drew breath. He would gladly be that invasive species, wipe out another society so that his could thrive. And when the sentient beings' rights committee charged him with war crimes and sentenced him to death, he would gladly go to the hangman's noose, knowing that he saved his species. He was selfless and ruthless like that. She wasn't.

Granted, he wasn't crazy, and even now, she remembered what he had told her all those years ago, more than a decade now, in the jungle. Humans were guests on Pandora. He would prefer to keep it that way. He didn't want to kill thousands and thousands of Na'vi, he'd rather have peace with them. She was eternally grateful he wasn't crazy like Quaritch or like Randall, or going back in human history, like Stalin or like Hitler. He wanted peace, but would fight if he needed to.

"Well, shee-it," drawled a female voice, and she was broken out of her thoughts as the southern woman at the terminal frowned. "Program done be a little smarter than Ah thought. Ah took some sound bytes that th'base has from Sully's recordings and patched th'words t'gether, but the encryption is good enough to notice that th'tone ain't right. T'ain't a problem, though. Gimme a minute and Ah'll get it fixed." She began to work, eyes intent as she began to run the phrase through audio programs, smoothing it, making it more natural, and one minute turned into two, and then into three and she leaned back into her chair, eyes darting back over to the two men that occupied her thoughts. Norm was leaned forward, eyes glinting hungrily as he talked to the woman, and the two of them were having an enthusiastic conversation. Norm was in his prime, learning something new, and eating it up, even though his neon green rain slickers made him look slightly ridiculous. Harrison was hanging back, watching the process intently, legs braced shoulder width apart, arms crossed across his chest imperiously, exopack hanging off of one shoulder, and if his still sopping wet uniform bothered him, he showed no sign of it. He just stood quietly and watched. He shifted slightly, and turned towards her, his eyes flashing a flat distaste, and she fought the urge to sneer at him.

The main problem was that they were both far too stubborn. That was the real reason why they had never really ever gotten in a relationship with each other. The physical attraction was definitely there, and God did she miss being with him, and they respected each other to the highest degree. They had to, considering what they had been through together. However, some of their core ideals differed. He was about rules and regulations, the best of NCOs. She was more of a free spirit, doing what she felt was right, regardless of some of the consequences, and sometimes especially if they broke some of the rules and regulations. And currently, even though she knew that he was right, she wouldn't admit that she was wrong. That's why they had spent nine months without talking that one time, and Lord only knew how long they'd go now. Things were different now, though. Now they were working together. Now they couldn't avoid each other like they could before. Now they were forced to see each other on a regular basis, and that added whole new dimensions of stress to the field.

"Hah! Ah got it! Now let's pop this lil' puppy and see what secrets it done got," Overmeyer crowed, and she opened the message.

xxxXXXxxx

He blinked. An eight digit grid coordinate. A list of three words followed by a number, followed by a date for each trio of words and number that extended into next month. After that long list, there was a short compilation of radio frequencies and times four hours apart. And finally, at the very bottom, a short sentence. 'They use Avatars.' What the hell? This didn't make any sense.

"I don't get it," Norm said slowly, frowning in confusion. "Creator, market, thunder, five, for next Friday? What does that mean?"

"It's a challenge, password, running password, and a number combination. Say you're blundering about the woods, lost as all hell, and you stumble upon friendly forces. Chances are, they'll shout out a sentence containing a code word. Like, 'thank the creator that the weather is good.' You'd respond with a sentence such as 'the weather may be good, but I'm still not going to the market.' The running password is used when you need to get into friendly lines immediately, and you can't exchange sentences. You just come running in, shouting thunder as loud as you can. The number combination is used during the night. You're coming up on friendlies, so you flash your light four times, or three times, or whatever. The people you are approaching will flash the remaining numbers. In this case, three times or four times, respectively."

Trudy spoke up for the first time. "Hey, someone call up those coordinates on the map, I wanna see what we're looking at." That only took a few moments, and soon they were looking at a small group of hills out in the plains. He vaguely remembered flying over them while flying to Heaven's Pass. They seemed to be on the easiest and most direct route from Hell's Gate to Heaven's Pass, so they would naturally be in the path of any serious attack on Heaven's Pass. Stick an observation post or a forward operating base on the highest hill, and you had a clear view for miles in any direction, as well as a staging point for raids into the jungle. So why was it that someone in Heaven's Pass was giving such secret data to Sully?

"Maybe it's a trap," Norm offered, voice hopeful.

He shook his head no. "These passwords are correct, I got them only a few days ago." At everyone's questioning glances, he rolled his eyes. "I'm a trusted member of the EEF with more security clearances than probably everyone in this room combined. If things ever go real bad, I'm expected to know the passwords if I need to get back inside friendly lines. They are generally made a month at a time, at least they are for me, I don't know how they distribute them to the regular grunts on base. Do we have any real time footage of that group of hills?"

Overmeyer shook her head. "We ain't got any control over the satellites, and those networks done got so much encryption that Ah ain't ever goanna be able t'git in. Sorry."

"So the latest view we have of those hills is from before Quaritch got his ass kicked by the moon," Trudy dryly muttered as she stepped up to the holographic table cheerily showing the small group of hills. "So we don't know if this is a carefully laid trap, or if this is something else."

"It's something else. This isn't how you lay a trap, not in a large theater combat engagement. It would be easy for Jake to send in real small teams to scout the area around these hills and to get Banshees high enough to get eyes on inside of the base itself. Instead, it would be a datapad in a crashed Samson or something in the middle of a drawn out battle with a battle plan for such and EEF unit to flank hard out this way and hit Jake hard where he's the weakest. It's in the middle of a battle, Jake will have difficulty confirming whether or not the data is true, and if he's not absolutely certain, he won't know if it's a trick or if he's just about to have a battalion hit him in the flanks or take out his supply trains or whatever. This? He can recon the objective real easy. This isn't a trap. Someone in Heaven's Pass is willing to give vital information to the enemy in order to kill another human or a group of humans."

"So what do we do about it?"

Harrison stared at Trudy, confused by the question.

"We deliver it, of course. Unaltered, not tampered with, this message goes to Jake Sully as directed by the sender."

Her look of shock was astounding. "B-but, I thought...what?"

"We're messengers. We get a message, we pass it onwards, no questions asked. We are neutral parties in this war, and should not let any bias or preference for any side cloud or hinder our ability to complete our objective." He narrowed his eyes at her, and he knew that they were probably glinting in a deadly light. "Hell, I thought that you'd be glad to be the one to help deliver the message that just might turn the war to Sully's favor."

"What?"

"The largest hill is large enough to hold two light companies of infantry, or one company of infantry, plus about eighty extra troops and some serious extra fire power. Two hundred soldiers, a tenth of the human fighting force, maybe a little more. There are quite a bit of support personnel at Heaven's Pass. So, if Sully can take this hill, he'll have literally decimated the human fighting ability. An opportunity he can't give up."

"Then why are you so willing to go along with this? Those are EEF soldiers who are likely to be on that hill. I wouldn't trust its defense to the RDA if I were Treleaven! How can you be so bloody calm about this, Harrison?"

"Because it's my job. Because this information is only part of the whole picture. This doesn't say anything about the hill fort itself. It only gives enough information to be an edge to Sully, not a god mode cheat. He'll lose a lot of soldiers if he even does manage to succeed. Those numbers at the bottom? That's all radio check in times. He'll have four, maybe five hours to pull off a perfect attack with an undisciplined force. This is the catalyst. This is what's going to start the last battle. Jake can't ignore it. He's going to commit his best forces, throw everything he has at this. He won't succeed that original time hack. His forces are going to be engaged by the rest of the EEF and the RDA, and whoever wins this battle will win the war. Who will win?" he asked, answering his own question with a shrug. "Hell if I know. My money is on the humans. We've fought countless battles like this upcoming one and prevailed. I can't say either way, though. However, the chance to have everything be resolved in one or two months at maximum, or over years of bitter conflict? I know which one I prefer."

Norm nodded, surprising him. "Yeah. If Jake loses, he accepts the human terms. If Jake wins, he can form his own terms for human colonization and mining. I think that Jake knows that humans are going to be a part of Pandoran life from now on, but he'd rather deal from a position of strength than from a position of weakness. Lead the Na'vi to a glorious victory before generously allowing the humans to mine only what is necessary for our survival rather than lead the Na'vi to a bitter defeat before being forced to allow us to mine where and when we want. If he chooses not to fight, the humans will keep coming, keep attacking. 'They have Avatars.' Trained special operations soldiers using Avatars to get into the jungles, to take out high value targets, whether those be personnel or population centers. Jake was bad enough when he first started out..."

"...imagine what people trained in the ways of an Avatar could do," Harrison finished. "Hell, armed with nothing but a handgun and a laser designator, a properly trained team could probably get in close enough to laze a Hometree. Then have one of those supersonic bombers come in and drop off one hundred and twenty five thousand pounds of laser guided and burrowing high explosive ordnance. Make the attack on the Tree of Souls seem like a love tap." He paused, and let the implications of _that_ sink in. "So, deliver the message, and avoid that bit of uncivilized behavior, or just have it be quick and dirty? I know which one I'm choosing. The second this rain breaks, we're flying, Trudy. I want you and your crew to be ready."

She didn't say anything, just nodded her acquiescence. What else was there to do? He watched as she glanced towards the message on the computer screen. _Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Who sent this, and why? Something just doesn't add up..._


	19. Necessary Decisions

**AN: I hate my internet sometimes...already had a good author's note written out, and bam, Internet Explorer Cannot Display the Web Page. *Sigh* Well, anyway, Merry Christmas! If you don't celebrate Christmas, merry Christmas anyway! Have some goodwill, it's free and doesn't hurt at all. I want to apologize, however, for the length of time it took me to write this, but in my defense, I've been busy. I built my stepmom a really awesome bookshelf, and bought my fiance a really awesome Kindle Fire. And that's just the tip of the iceberg, too. This year was a good year.**

**Anyway, this chapter has some filler, as is to be expected. Can't all be bombs, sex, and guns. And, it's _important_ filler, too. We get to see into Jake's mind, see some of his thought processes. Might surprise some of you. We also get to see other characters at the end of the chapter, and they are very important, as well. I hope that you all enjoy my Christmas gift unto you, even if you don't celebrate the holiday. And, uh, I know what _I_ want for Christmas, *nudgenudgewinkwink*. Read, enjoy, and please review!**

NECESSARY DECISIONS

The jungle was quiet. Rather, it was as quiet as you could expect from the jungle. There was always something moving, something making a noise out in the distance. But just after the last storm that could still be heard with the occasional distant rumble of thunder, things were subdued, and there was a thick blanket of mist laying over the jungle floor. A wonderful time to go hunting, relying on skills other than eyesight to draw close to prey before taking the shot. But Jake wasn't hunting. He was sitting, eyes half closed as he listened to that wonderful silence, enjoying the natural peace of the jungle. He was too close to the new Omaticaya home tree to worry about predators, and so he was able to relax his guard still further. Moments like these were more precious than Unobtanium. He was so very tired. This war was already taking so much out of him.

How long had it been since it started? More than six months, he knew that for certain. Which meant that another group of humans was likely on Pandora now, stacking the odds still further against his favor. He groaned, shattering the calm around him. Something started before darting off through the undergrowth, and he didn't bother to look to see what it was. His army was getting restless. They had been so excited after the humans had been driving off the field following the Battle of the Plain, but that good mood had quickly faded as the wounded were treated and the dead were buried and they made their way back to the safety of the jungle. Now they were waiting, and for what, he didn't know. The humans hadn't done a single action against the Na'vi since the battle. No air strikes, no rapid raids, nothing. It was like they didn't exist anymore, a notion quickly disbanded when one looked into the night sky and saw what looked like a distant star moving across the sky far quicker than the other celestial bodies but was actually the light reflected off of a satellite that was always watching, always vigilant.

The jungle grew quiet again. _God_, he wished for some good beer! Maybe some hard liquor, something real bad, like 120 proof vodka, something that would tear the shit out of his liver and make him forget who he was. A bar with stale cigarette smoke in the air and old peanuts in bowls on the tables and bar. A good, busty and obnoxiously blonde human woman with a bad southern accent named Kandi. Hard rock tearing through the air and into his ear drums, drowning out other noise. Some of his old buddies who were bigger losers than he was. At least _he_ had been a Marine. He was proud of what he had done, proud of his decisions, but more and more he wondered about what have happened if he had done exactly as Quaritch had asked him.

God, imagine it! Back on the shit hole that was Earth, but with his human body and human legs. A trip to Pandora paid well, the RDA made damn sure of that. He'd be able to get out of that crappy little apartment, make smart decisions with the money remaining, maybe write a book about what he had experienced, gotten filthy rich and famous...he'd be living the high life. But he chose Pandora, damn his sense of duty. And he was paying for it, paying hard. Ney'tiri barely talked to him, her pride wounded by how he had yelled at her after the battle. His fellow Olo'eyktan were squabbling, tribal differences flaring up under the pressures of war. His supply system was having difficulty keeping everyone fed, everyone housed, everyone reasonably comfortable. _That_ had been a nightmare. Trying to teach a bunch of hunter-gatherers the importance of supply lines. As small populace centers and as hunting parties, they could live off the land, but all together in a single army, they overtaxed the land. True, the levy system had worked well enough, but it wasn't enough. He had been forced to spread his armies around the jungle. It would take more than a day to just let the war leaders know that they were moving. It was a nightmare beyond anything he'd ever comprehended before. And all the Na'vi wanted results. They didn't want a long war, they wanted a quick victory delivered by their Toruk Makto.

He scoffed slightly, sneer marring his face. Toruk Makto. Once a name sung with praise, now it was whispered in the shadows with malice. Not one of the Na'vi, he was one of the Sky People wearing a false body, a spirit possessing a body that was different from all the other Na'vi. They would continue to follow the name, but they were beginning to develop a strong dislike of him. He needed a real victory. But how could he do that when the majority of his anti-air assets had been destroyed by those damn tank guns? How could he do that when he didn't even know _where_ the enemy forces had their main base? How could he do that when he no longer really had any control over the Na'vi that he had armed with human weapons? This entire war was turning into a massive cluster dump of a situation.

At least he had the Omaticaya. They were loyal to him and to him alone. They were also the best armed of all of the Na'vi, with every warrior in the Omaticaya Shock Army armed with a machine gun like that one that he had been armed with when he had first come to Pandora. Plus he had his own special forces, the Omaticaya Elite Infiltration Unit. That had been the most difficult thing to do. There were only sixteen of them, but he had taken young and enthusiastic Na'vi warriors and taught them everything he could about Earth culture. Slang, names of cities, political situations, different nations, and he had them listen to accents from various parts of the world. He was thankful for the expressive Na'vi vocal cords, for they had picked up on the accents very well. They knew all the military jargon, knew rank structure, were skilled marksmen and hunters, could perform a variety of different demolitions, and were almost fanatically loyal to him. After all, why wouldn't they be? They were his elite soldiers, trained above all others, and given the sacred task of being saboteurs that were able to slip into enemy territory and wreak havoc while pretending to be Avatar Special Forces. And the EEF _had_ to have Avatar Special Forces. He had been the one to prove how effective it was to have a former Marine use a body that was adapted to survival on this moon. If he was in charge, he'd have had the Avatar soldiers be on the first wave. But there was no evidence of their existence yet, so his Elite Infiltration Unit waited eagerly, champing at the bit. They'd be ready for when he called on them.

A distant stutter, and he paused, holding his breath. Yes. A Samson. Sounded like only one, so maybe Trudy? That would be good. He hadn't talked to a human in a long while, and certainly hadn't had a social call since the war began. He missed talking to Trudy, to Norm, to Max. They had all been behind him when this all began, and they had remained friends up to the start of the war. He supposed that they were still his friends, but both sides had quietly agreed that it would look bad if the leader of the Na'vi was known to consort with Sky People on a regular basis. His good mood diminished slightly at that thought. This likely wasn't going to be a friendly visit then. He wasn't in the mood for business. He really was exhausted. Little sleep, having to do a lot of ass kissing in order to keep his military, such as it was, together, watching the extremely finite amount of bullets decrease during training maneuvers, having to deal with an increasingly distant support base within the populace, and recently having to deal with openly disdainful stares from those who didn't like him...the war was grinding him down.

With a groan, he stood, joints popping. He didn't care if he supposedly had carbon reinforced bones, he still _hurt_ these days. He rolled his shoulder before setting off at a light trot, ghosting through the still prevalent mist, moving around the thick vegetation with practiced ease, despite his fatigue. It did not take him long to break out into the clearing near the Home Tree where the Samson sat, rotors still beating the once quiet morning air, a crowd of Na'vi loosely gathered around the aircraft, not quite hostile, but definitely not friendly. Ney'tiri was at the head of the group, hands clasped around her bow. When he reached the back of the crowd, his fellow clan members parted silently, allowing him passage. He said nothing to Ney'tiri, merely rested his finger tips against the small of her back. She glanced back at him, face neutral and voice silent. An improvement. At least she didn't try and pull away this time. He kept that position as Harrison disembarked the Samson and raised a hand in greeting. "What news from Treleaven?" he called out over the sound of rotors, and in response Harrison held up a datapad.

"Not from Treleaven," Harrison returned, voice guarded.

Frowning, Jake moved forward. "Not from Treleaven? Who else, besides him?" he asked, voice dumbfounded. Why would any human besides the head general wish to talk with him? He took the datapad from Harrison and tried to activate it, but an encryption screen with a sentence on it came up. He stared at it for a moment, confused, and Harrison cleared his throat politely.

"It's a voice recognition program, so that only you can open it," he explained, and Jake nodded to show his understanding before reading the phrase. It only took a few moments after that for the message to open up, and Jake understood _that_ immediately. His eyes flicked up to glance at Harrison, who was watching him with unreadable eyes.

"This is-!" he started, shocked at what he saw, but he restrained himself, clearing his throat instead of finishing the sentence that had sprung unbidden from his throat. "Thank you, Harrison. Your abilities as a messenger are much appreciated. Was there any request for a return answer?" The former mercenary merely shook his head. "Well, then, if that is all, send my regards to Norm and Max." He gave a short wave to Trudy, who was watching the exchange from the cockpit of the Samson, and she nodded in return before turning to the controls, flipping various switches. The engines changed pitched, whining louder and louder and Harrison stepped back before ducking into the bird. It took off with a roar, beating the plants back with gusts of wind, and he covered his eyes with a protective arm until the Samson was clear of the trees and flying back towards Hell's Gate.

"What is it, Jake? What is the message?" Ney'tiri asked, curiosity overriding any lingering scorn.

"The key to the human back door!" he said, mind struggling to comprehend just what he was holding. Who would dare send him this? Why would they send him this? No matter, he needed to act, and act fast. He quickly backed out of the message, looking, hoping to find...ah! There, a map of Pandora, perfect. It didn't take him long to not only figure out where exactly that was, but also how far away and at what bearing it was from the Home Tree. He had a month to prepare. He would be ready. "I need messengers to go out to the Olo'eyktan and tell them to meet me here. Also, I need the Elite Infiltration Unit to report with full kit twenty minutes ago." The Na'vi stared at him, surprised at his change in demeanor. Minutes ago he had been downcast, burdened, and now he was full of vigor. Hope could do that to you. "Thus I command, now GO!" A flurry of movement, and Na'vi were running for Banshees. He already won a battle. Time to win another.

xxxXXXxxx

"This is Charlie tree-one, reporting for duty, General Sully. What's the sitrep? Got any WARNOs for us? There any rear echelon mo-fo's for us to kick the shit out of? Maybe some pogues, or a cavalry troop, an artillery battery, or even an infantry company?" the Na'vi said, face a roguish grin as he stood easy, GPMP resting against a shoulder, fatigues looking natural on him. Oh, God, it had taken _years_ to get the Na'vi this trained, this human, but now it was going to pay off. He sounded like he came from Brooklyn, and there was another Na'vi who you could swear came from Boston, and another from the South US, as well as a German. They had all learned English (German and English for the one 'from' Germany) from scientists and former mercs who came from those selfsame places on Earth. Armed with the passcodes, these Na'vi just might be able to get inside of human lines for demolition and supply disruption missions. They were also skilled with radios. They were going to be his eyes on.

"There is a small grouping of hills approximately two hundred miles away to our northwest. I need your full team to go and get an 'eyes on' appraisal of the situation. I have solid reason to believe that there is a small human outpost on those hills, and we are going to take it. You will be our forward observation of the area while I move the rest of the Na'vi Army up to attack. Shouldn't take more than two weeks to get everything into position. Any questions, Lieutenant Rockwell?" He had taken a human name, they all had. All the more to slip into the roles of Avatar drivers.

"Ah, yes sir, what gear will we be going in?"

"Full kit, all the ammo you can carry, demolition packs, radios, extra food, shovels, everything." He pulled up a map of the area in question. "I'm guessing that the humans have put an outpost on this hill, the largest one, so I want you to come in during the balls ass earliest part of the day, say oh-two-hundred, move up this hill right here, to the southeast, and dig in deep. Don't engage, camouflage your positions well, and just report. Tell me what they're doing. I selected you lot from the best hunters of the Omaticaya, so if you get caught, you're letting down not only me but your people, is that understood?"

The Lieutenant grinned again, quirking a brow in a purely human gesture. "On my honor, then, sir." Then his face grew somber. "Demolition packs?"

Jake sighed heavily. If this was an outpost, and if they were to sever its communication with demolitions, that was going to be a one way trip. He knew what he was asking his soldiers, and they knew what they were being asked. And they would do what needed to be done. "Only if absolutely necessary. Make sure that your best marksman has a long range rifle, as well. We might need a sniper. Obviously, I don't need to tell you that the approach-"

"-should be on foot rather than on Banshee. I know, sir," the grin was back. "We'll dismount ten klicks out and move in under the cover of darkness. You've trained us well, sir. Now we finally get to do what we were trained to do. You can count on us. You want us to leave immediately?"

Jake nodded, and Rockwell positively beamed. "Sir, it's been a pleasure working under your command, and we've never had any doubt in you. I hope to catch you on the flip side, but if fate asks us to lay our lives down then we will, for the future of our people. Just, uh, name a high school after us, yeah?" He stood, popped to attention, turned, and left. Jake watched him go, pride and regret conflicting in his heart. He was proud of those Na'vi, and he regretted what he was sending them to do. He knew that it would be necessary to send at least a few of them to their deaths for the demolition job, and there was a good chance that the rest of them would be found out by the humans and killed. He didn't want to see his best and most fanatically loyal soldiers spent like that, but dammit, he didn't have a choice. Though, in some ways he wished that the message was a ruse, that nothing would be there. His soldiers would slip in, find nothing, and leave. He wouldn't have to send them willingly to their deaths. He sighed, heavily. Wouldn't be that easy.

Ney'tiri slipped into the chamber, looking slightly contrite. They still loved each other, Eywa herself proved that all those years ago, as well as the years following the human expulsion. Their lives hadn't been easy, rebuilding the tribe. They had suffered heavily at the hands of Quaritch and Parker, and through the finding of a new Hometree, the building up of a decent military, and the repopulating of the clan through treaties with other clans as well as through much child rearing had been time consuming and stressful. They still hadn't started a family, and he knew that she wanted one. Hell, he did too. There just wasn't any damn time! Maybe after this war ended... "My Jake," she smiled, face apologetic, and he wondered briefly where her change of heart came from, but he wasn't complaining, not in the least. He rose, walked to her, and embraced her, nuzzling her neck tenderly. "I have thought long and hard on your words, and saw the wisdom to them."

He pulled back slightly, looking at her with surprise. "Really? What brought that on?"

She shifted, as though expecting reprimand. "I went to talk to Eywa." He nodded, urging her to continue when she faltered slightly. He knew that there were still points that could be used to talk to Eywa, though he hadn't personally tried to talk to her since the Tree of Souls was destroyed. Too busy to take the time off and go to Eywa for guidance. He was glad that Ney'tiri had had the chance. "She showed me the darkness within my heart, that I had been too blinded by hate to see. I had become what I hate, the Sky People." She sighed, heavily, clutching him closer. "When will this fighting be over, Jake? Too many of our young have gone over to Eywa..."

"It will be over once we realize that the Sky People are not all evil. Grace was born of Earth, as was I. Norm, Max, and Trudy, too, and they fought for you just as I did. The EEF represent a military born of a desire for survival, not as a force for greed. Sure, some of them may be complete cowards and evil, just as not all RDA are evil. But so long as Treleaven and Reed are in charge, I have high hopes for our future. With those two in charge, I feel that there will be future for both the Sky People and the Na'vi on Eywa."

"That is what Eywa told me. The Sky People are no longer the Sky People. They will soon change to become accustomed to Eywa, and they will be our brothers and sisters. It saddened me to hear this, but truly you are a wise ruler to see the future so readily."

"No, not wise. Just have common sense is all. No, we will see if I am wise if it turns out that I am making the right necessary decisions. Hopefully this upcoming fight will be the last our people have to fight. We shall see. In the meantime, I have missed you terribly, love," he murmured as he drew her close. "There will be some time before the Olo'eyktan come...shall we spend it wisely?" Her impish smile was all the answer he needed, and he pulled her into a passionate kiss. It had been far too long...

xxxXXXxxx

The engines were loud, far louder to his Avatar ears then they would have been to his human ears, and Grigori Senko licked his lips in nervous anticipation. All of the hours and days and months and _years_ of training all leading to this. He glanced over at Heffelfinger, who wasn't smiling for once. Normally the Swiss man had an amiable smile, but now one could see his true face clearly even on the broad blue face of his Avatar. Cold, hard, almost no emotion, the face of a ruthless killer. And oh what killing they would be doing. He got up out of his seat and made his way over to the drop pod that contained their weapons. Enter the passcode, pop the latches, and gaze at the gloriously ugly weapons that had an unidentifiable functional beauty about them. Heffelfinger's 12.7mm Select-Fire Battle Rifle that looked like the bastard child of the ancient FN-FAL and the slightly less ancient H&K G-36. Neither of them fired the .50 caliber BMG round, which the rifle before him did. Batteries on the four power red dot scope were brand new, and they had extras in their packs. Far more impressive was the 20mm Anti-material rifle that looked like a small artillery piece. That was _his_ baby. It had a massive electronic scope mounted on top of it, up to sixteen power. Three ammo types, normal round, explosive round, and a 6x20x110mm APFSDS, that is, the Armor Piercing, Fin Stabilized, Discarding Sabot. Punch through armored positions or several Na'vi standing in a row.

But the two most important items inside of the drop pod were the laser designator and the long-range radio. Their rifles could do a lot of damage, but the laser design could direct airstrikes called in on the radio. Yes, his anti-material rifle had a computer integrated into it to help compensate for wind, distance, humidity, and anything else that might effect a long distance shot, and the barrel was gyroscope stabilized so that when he put some pressure on the trigger the weapon would be less effected by his breathing and his heart beat. Yes, his weapon had all those things, but the sake of the matter was pretty simple: a 20mm bullet could not match a 2,000 pound bomb. Especially not a laser guided bomb capable of burrowing attacks designed for the sole purpose of maximizing attacks on Home Trees. No, the rifles were for if things got close or they had to do a precision hit. Or if they were in the middle of a battle and air was tied up. Or if they were in deep enemy territory with high levels of confirmed enemy anti-air assets. Of course, then they'd be just as likely to hit the enemy anti-air batteries than anything else, and then call in the air.

"Five minutes!" the loadmaster shouted, holding up five fingers for confirmation, and Senko quickly secured the pod. Once the latches locked, he checked them, checked them again, and rechecked them a third time. One could never be too redundant in matters such as these. Heffelfinger stood up from his jumpseat, and the next few minutes they spent checking each other's gear. Fatigues, sturdy boots, face paint applied properly, parachutes without any visible defects, helmets that had night vision goggles attached to it. Combat knives the size of human short swords secured to the tactical vests that also had ammo pouches, grenade pouches, flashbang pouches, extra pouches for extra rations, batteries, and damn near everything else that they might need. Pistols in 12mm on drop leg holsters, only four clips apiece. The pistols and the knives would be the only weapons they had until they secured the drop pod. Not that he was worried. Even with just the knives and pistols, they'd be a force to be reckoned with.

"One minute, ready up!" came the shout from the loadmaster, and he and Heffelfinger took position on opposite sides of the drop pod, undoing the locks keeping it from rolling around in the cargo bay. The cargo bay opened, and he swallowed to get his ears accustomed to the new pressure. The loadmaster began to shout out the final countdown, but he didn't hear him over the sound of the engines and the wind sweeping into the bay. He just kept his eyes locked on the light. When it switched from red to green, he surged forward the same time the Heffelfinger did, and they rocketed down the cargo bay and into the dark Pandoran night. He tucked his arms close to his body, spinning to look up to the plane that had transported them. It was flanked by the two bombers, which were on their way to bomb one of the larger troop formations deep in the jungle. Not only would it hurt the Na'vi, but it would also serve as a diversion for Heffelfinger and him as they began operations.

He kept a careful eye on the altimeter strapped to his forearm. The 'chute was set to automatically deploy at a preset altitude, and he trusted the gear. Too many times had he heard the story of the trainee who had felt doubt, had pulled the ripcord too early and ended up drifted far off course. No, he'd keep an eye on his altimeter and trust his gear, but otherwise enjoy the scenery. The jungle lay like a heavy carpet over the ground, with the odd Home Tree rising like living columns out of the jungle. He could even see the Hallelujah Mountains in the distance, a dark smudge hanging in the air, almost beyond the range of sight. Flares of light ahead, and he looked up and forward. The bombs were hitting the jungle floor maybe ten or fifteen miles ahead. Mighty close for comfort. If the Na'vi were good, they'd have scouts even out this far.

A slithering hiss behind him, and then a jerking impact as the 'chute deployed and caught in the heavy Pandoran air. Tests earlier had shown that parachutes large enough for Earth were too large on Pandora, leaving the user hanging in the air for far too long. Plus, it was a documented fact that they could feasibly do a no 'chute jump, and had even done some in simulations, but they weren't taking any chances for this operation. Four other teams of two Avatar drivers were being deployed either tonight or tomorrow night, and though they could die and not die (the benefit of using an Avatar) but each body was extremely expensive and would take years to remake. Not worth the trouble. Especially since an Avatar driver would be downgraded to normal Special Forces until the new body grew. Not an enviable position. As such, they weren't taking any chances. Parachutes were required, even if they were far smaller than a 'chute carrying the same weight on Earth.

However, they were allowed to do something slightly risky and quite fun...the treetops came close enough to touch, and he hit the release straps, viciously stomping down on the urge to whoop with fierce exhilaration as he began to free fall again. He could be using his NVGs, but there was enough light coming off of Polyphemus that he could see clearly enough to start slowing his descent using large leaves, vines, and once he slowed down enough, thick branches. He hit the jungle floor on his feet, and drew his pistol, and froze before using a technique known as SLLS or 'Sills.' It stood for Stop, Look, Listen, Smell. Get used to your environment so that once things changed, he'd be more aware of it. Couldn't come in here loud, stupid, and obnoxious and expect to live. Two fast flashes of light to his right. He pointed his sidearm towards it, and activated the flashlight attached underneath the barrel, flashing back three times. Heffelfinger came out from behind a large tree. "Saw the drop pod hit the deck about one hundred meters to our front," he murmured in Russian once he drew close. He pulled out his datapad, quickly activating the GPS function. "Got a fix on the pod, it's this way."

Wordlessly, he followed Heff, and within five minutes they were retrieving the rest of their gear. As the spotter, Heffelfinger was in charge of the radio, which he lovingly slid into a pouch designed for just such a thing before pulling out the two wireless headsets with throat microphones, handing one to Senko. "Trojan Six, Trojan Six, this is Serpent Fower, radio check, over."

"Serpent Fower, we read you loud and clear. Is equipment recovery complete, over?"

"Roger, Trojan Six, recovery complete, heading to checkpoint two-alpha for first objective, over."

"That's a solid copy, we are showing you oscar mike, and expect regular check-ins, over."

Heffelfinger rolled his eyes at him. Regular check-ins meant a radio message once every hour. "Tell us how to do our jobs like we are idiots," he muttered with a touch of exasperation before he keyed the mic. "Roger, Trojan Six. Serpent Fower, out." With that, he killed the radio to preserve battery power, they shouldered their packs, and the two of them headed out into the jungle, heading unknowingly into the biggest and bloodiest battle of the Pandoran War...


	20. Play the Game

**AN: HAPPY NEW YEAR! Here's my New Year's gift to you lot, and hopefully you all enjoy it. Already have a few paragraphs of the next chapter done, so hopefully it won't take too long for me to bang it out and update it. Other'n that, life is pretty quiet right now, only ten more days before I can move back to my dorms and start my EMT class. This story is definitely drawing to a close, though, and I'm still on the fence on whether or not to write a third story. I've got the basics planned out, but nothing definite, as of yet. Tell me what you guys think about it!**

**READ, ENJOY, and PLEASE REVIEW!**

PLAY THE GAME

Lieutenant Storch lifted an arm to shield her eyes as the Samson took off, complete in its mission of delivering supplies. It stuttered over the two Samsons permanently assigned to the outpost before flying off back towards the main base. She sighed heavily as she watched it diminish in size. She knew why the company was assigned to Scheißberg Hill. Yes, yes, the official orders said that Treleaven wanted the best trained company to go to the most valuable position for the defense against suspected enemy counter-attacks. But if that was the case, they would have been sent to the outpost immediately following the Battle of the Plains. It was only after she killed Anderson and started getting trouble from the RDA that they were sent to this crappy little outpost. "Alright, let's get the gear inside," she told Tan, who nodded, and started to get the squad designated for the work detail to move the supplies.

"Alright, you know the deal. Food supplies to the DFAC, ammo and replacement parts into the supply building," Tan directed, and the nine soldiers grumbled good-naturedly as they began moving the boxes that represented somewhat fresh food for the next week, as well as ammo to add to the considerable stockpile already amassed. Three such shipments had been received, and she was already sick of this dusty little place. There just wasn't much to _do_ here. The two barracks buildings, one of them with a closed off room inside of the open bay for the officers. The one DFAC that was present was just about as predictable as an elementary school cafeteria, with Taco Tuesday and Fish Friday. The small clinic was more suited for severe trauma cases than for anything else, and the small recreation center in the same building had little more than a couple of weight machines, two televisions with gaming consoles attached, a computer with crappy network abilities and some cheap games, and a pool table. It used to have board games, but those got taken from the rec room and brought to the barracks for use. The only other buildings were the command post with the communications center and the one hundred foot radio tower towering above the outpost, and the store room that always had a guard on it, for it had all the ammo and replacement parts all the weapons, including the two anti-aircraft weapon systems, both 20mm radar-guided Vulcan cannons.

While Tan supervised the transport of the supplies back to the outpost, she took a moment to survey the surroundings. The landing pad was just large enough for four Samsons, and while outside the outpost itself, it was in a pit surrounded by low sloping walls that allowed for the Samsons to lift off with forward and upward acceleration, rather than just straight up, which took longer and was more dangerous. The outside of those walls were steep, however, and covered in concertina wire and pongee sticks. It was also at the highest part of the hill with the steepest slopes, and those were also covered with defenses. The wind whistled in from the northwest, and she took in the panoramic view offered by the all paid for vacation to Scheißberg Hill as offered by the EEF. The hill itself was 421 meters above sea level, but two hundred meters above the surrounding lands, and the largest of an eight hill chain. It was also the central hill, with three to the north and four to the south. It was also twice as tall as the second largest hill, located to the southeast. As such, they could see for miles in any direction, making a sneak attack difficult. Plus, two hundred soldiers was nothing to shake a stick at...if the Na'vi simply bypassed them, they would be able to direct artillery for some time, including on the Na'vi holding force. What was it that Frederick the Great said? Never leave an enemy stronghold to the rear, especially if they threaten lines of communication or resupply. Well, maybe not Frederick the Great, but one of the great generals of times long ago.

She shouldered her rifle, and made her way down the recessed trench leading to the outpost. That was the product of Tanja's platoon, who were working almost around the clock to improve the outpost. This trench that was wide enough for three men to walk abreast in, was seven feet deep, and had ledges along the sides of them so that soldiers could stand on them and fire upon incoming enemies. Just in case. The fact remained that this trench was outside of the main outpost, and led to the secondary gate that was thicker than a vault door guarding a bank door back on Earth. Easier to take the main gate than to take this one, truth be told. She entered into the small outpost, sighing once more. At least things were better between Tanja and her, though their current housing situation prevented any carnal activities, which was honestly a shame. Great way to pass the time, and relieving herself in the shower whenever she got unbearably horny wasn't as much fun, nor was it as satisfactory. Nonetheless, she was actually very glad to have her friend back. More glad than she expected.

When they had first started their unique relationship, she had viewed it not as friendship nor as a romantic relationship. But as time went on, she became more reliant on Tanja as a friend and a peer. It had taken her some time and Tan's words for her to realize that Tanja was doing her a great favor by going to Tan after the murder. Before the whole mess began, had someone asked her what she would do if someone came to her with information on a murder, she would probably say that she'd turn them in, no matter who they were. Thank God for her that she had a friend, a true friend, who supported her more than she supported the law. And, oh, how that friend made her squirm when she had first gone to her to apologize for her words and her behavior. Tanja had stared at her with ice in her blue eyes before she nodded curtly.

"You were under much stress, yes?" she had said, voice slightly frosty. "I am understanding of this, and am forgiving you of lapse in thinking. However," she had went on, voice hardening to diamond and already pronounced Russian accent becoming even stronger, "if you ever try to do thing like this, I will _crush_ you!" Storch had thoroughly believed her, a chill running up her spine at the Russian woman's words. There had been something truly threatening and frightening about the normally friendly and approachable woman, some Slavic deadliness about her.

But she had been true to her word. They hadn't spoken about her bitchiness since, and things had gone back to normal...hell, even better than normal. Back at Heaven's Pass, it was large enough that they didn't see too much of each other, but here, they spent every day together. They talked more, mostly, since they couldn't do anything physical together, other than the occasional brief kiss that created more stress than relieved it. Sometimes she just wanted to slam Tanja up against the wall, kiss her deeply and aggressively, breasts pressing against each other as her hand went south and...

She paused, cleared her throat, and shook her head slightly, glad her blush wouldn't show through her exopack. Yes, they talked, and she found out that she had many similarities with Tanja. More than she had expected when she first met the Russian. She looked forward to many years of service next to Tanja. Who knew, maybe their friendship would go beyond just friendship. With every passing day, that looked more and more appealing. "Uh, ma'am?" came the tentative voice from behind her, and she turned. One of the privates from first platoon, Jones, if she remember correctly. "Captain Burns is requesting all officers and platoon sergeants join him in the CP, ma'am."

"Roger that, thank you, Jones," she replied, nodding. At least there was air conditioning in there, to keep the radio equipment cool. Only building here that had it. Another thing that she didn't like about it here. Sure, all the buildings were slightly recessed into the ground, and their airtight nature meant pretty good insulation, but they still got uncomfortably warm during the height of the day, and their insulation then retained the heat into the night. And you couldn't air it out, thanks to the environment. And so, you get hot, sweaty, and dirty during the duty day, and the only thing you can do was take a cool shower. But then, you'd still get sweaty during the long, hot night. She couldn't wait until they returned to Heaven's Pass. Scuttlebutt was that units went out here on a month long rotation because of the lack of amenities available. However, her situation was rather...unique. She didn't know just _how_ long she'd be stuck out here. Probably until the trouble back at Heaven's Pass was resolved. Hopefully that would get done sooner rather than later. Oh well, she had no control over that, unless she hopped a ride back to Heaven's Pass and then went on a headhunt. But that would be a very bad idea. She'd end up in the hangman's noose if she tried that. She entered the airlock, and Tanja came running in.

"Just heard word," Tanja smiled apologetically at her. "What you think is going on?"

She shrugged. "Captain Burns probably got some intel from higher about enemy movement. Remember last week when we all got called in because a battalion of Na'vi were moving from their area of operations to the deep jungle, heading away from us? It's probably nothing too big." The airlock door leading into the CP opened up, and the two of them headed into the building to find all the other officers and first sergeants waiting. Tan looked over to the two of them, and quirked an eyebrow with an amused smirk, and she shook her head discretely. She would have liked to be late on account of enjoyable activities, but he knew damn well that they hadn't had enough time to do something like that. Plus, some of the others in the room were still settling in, so they must have gotten there just before Tanja and her. Yes, it was cute that Tan had lightened enough to pick on her like that, but still, at least try and be more tasteful about it.

She spotted Captain Burns coming into the room, and she popped to attention. "Room, atten-_tion_!" she barked, and the other soldiers surged to their feet. She noticed that some of the RDA soldiers looked annoyed, but she didn't make the rules, she just followed them. Unless they pertained to bloody revenge and murder, of course. However, it was a standing order that unless out in the field (and by that, it was meant in an environment wherein the enemy could have eyes on you and your actions) officers were to be treated as such. It remained to be seen whether or not that rule would still exist later on in the war, but for now it was still in effect.

"At ease, take your seats," Captain Burns ordered, and there was a rustle as everyone did so. "I've just gotten these images from higher, taken by our satellites passing over this area. It looks like the Na'vi are finally moving. They have some lead elements acting as a vanguard, largely of the Omaticaya tribe. However, due to the scattered nature of his army, Sully is travelling slowly, allowing his rear elements to catch up with his main body. At his current speed, he should be somewhere within our area of operations within two or three days. Keep in mind that I'm talking about his vanguard force, including his scout elements. Treleaven wants us to keep on our toes and keep our eyes open. It appears as though Jake has found out where Heaven's Pass is, judging by his current heading. Our best guess is he used individual scouts on Banshees to discover the location of Heaven's Pass. After all, he isn't stupid, and we did place our forces between his army and our base during the Battle of the Plains. A Banshee at a high enough altitude could easily find our base if they searched long enough, and while our radar sites are good, they aren't quite good enough to pick up an individual Banshee...at least not yet.

"What's that mean for us? Regular air patrols with our Samsons starting tomorrow at 0800, as well as doubled watch at night. Lieutenant Storch, you're in charge of watch tonight. I want five men from each platoon on duty at all times. I know that that means that less men and women get sleep each night, but we can't get caught with our pants down. However, keep in mind that higher has informed me that there are Avatar teams shadowing the Na'vi forces, and they might come here for resupply before the enemy arrive in our area, so if they look like one of ours, don't shoot, get the challenge and password, hooah?"

"Hooah!" they all sounded off.

"Now, we aren't going to be the Alamo or Thermopylae or Dunkirk or anything like that. We see the enemy, we sit tight, and call in artillery and the cavalry. Our quick reaction force is no more than half an hour away, and the Na'vi can't overwhelm us in thirty minutes, not with the MLRS artillery raining down on them. They've never experienced black rain before, so that should surprise them good, roger?" Storch smirked ruthlessly at that. Black rain was the slang for MLRS artillery rockets that contained a bunch of submunitions, each about as powerful as a grenade. The rocket would come in, explode about a hundred feet off the deck, and the submunitions would rain down on the enemy. It was a shock weapon as much as a killing weapon. Being in the middle of all those exploding bomblets would shock and disorient the most hardy warrior. That would keep the Na'vi off of them. "Any questions?" Silence answered Burns' query. "Right. We're here to just sit tight, keep our heads down, and call in some support on the enemy. If no one has anything else to add, you are all dismissed." Once more, silence answered him.

"Group, ten-_hut_!" First Sergeant Balow barked, and once more, they surged to their feet, this time snapping off salutes. Captain Burns returned the salutes, and once he dropped his arm, he turned to talk to First Sergeant Balow, and the rest of the room went about their business, most soldiers getting up to leave the building. She made a beeline to Tan.

"Right, looks like our platoon is going to be busy tonight. I'm going to need you to get all the platoon sergeants together no later than," she checked her watch briefly, "sixteen hundred hours with a list of who's on watch and when." He nodded, and they spent the next twenty minutes making plans. What platoons went on which side of the outpost, which heavy weapons were to be manned, etc, etc. It was already common knowledge that as the officer of the watch, she was in charge in Captain Burns' stead, so it was within her realm of responsibility to get these things hammered out now. Once they made a tentative plan and Tan left to go talk to his peers, she sighed heavily. Looked like it was going to be a long night. Might as well try and get a power nap prior to 1600hrs. She was going to be making rounds every watch shift tonight. Sure, each round was only ten or fifteen minutes, but that was a lot of time lost, in an eight hour period. With much to do, she set out.

xxxXXXxxx

It was dark in the bay when the muffled thud and equally muffled curse woke her up. For a moment, she was disoriented, but then she got her bearings. She glanced at her watch. Time was 0603hrs. Wha? "Hey, what's going on?" came the short whisper two bunks down.

"Sorry, sir, I was told to fetch Lieutenant Storch, there's a situation at the gate."

"Two bunks down, Private, and be more careful next time," came the tired grumble punctuated by a long drawn out yawn. Storch was already sitting up and pulling her socks on. She was still in her fatigues, made no sense to switch over to PTs or other sleepwear when you were getting up once an hour to check the watch.

The private careful made her way over to her. "Ma'am?" she asked in an almost timid voice. Storch merely grumbled an affirmative. "There's some Avatar drivers at the gate, they're asking for Captain Burns, they say that they have some really important information."

"Roger, tell them that I'll be right out to see them." The private disappeared, and she groaned into the darkness of the officer's quarters. Then it was putting on the body armor, getting the right exopack (the one with the tinted visor, sun was going to be coming up soon), putting on the boots, grabbing her rifle, and heading out the airlock. As she passed by the other bunks, she noticed that Burns wasn't in his bunk. Probably at the CP. That would make things easier. She headed into the dark Pandoran night, smacking her mouth as she walked. She had that sour 'not been sleeping enough' taste in her mouth. Ugh.

The outpost wasn't too large, and within moments she was at the main gate. Sure enough, there were four Avatars waiting at the gate, in dirty, dusty fatigues, all of them visibly tired out. No surprise there, they'd been scouting around the Na'vi army for who knew how long. She paused for a moment. Tall sonsabitches. Something niggled at the back of her mind, but she ignored it. Important matters at hand. "Lieutenant Storch, and you are?" she asked, far more curt than she would normally have been in normal circumstances.

The Avatars popped to attention, but refrained from saluting. Good. "Ma'am, I'm Staff Sergeant Johnson, we've been shadowing the Na'vi for some time now, and I've got some important news for the commander of this outpost."

She blinked, the alarm bells ringing more loudly. Momentarily ignoring Johnson, she turned to the commander of the guard. "This group knew the right passwords?"

"Yes, ma'am. Challenge, password, they even knew the number combination, used it when they flashed us with their flashlights on their approach."

She turned back towards Johnson, who looked more amused than nervous or offended. "Who is the commander of this outpost?" she asked. Special Forces operatives would know, and she didn't recognize the name Johnson off the top of her head.

"Captain Burns, of course. Codename Zulu Six. First Sergeant for the post is First Sergeant Balow, codename Zulu Seven." He paused, tilting his head inquisitively. "Detroit, ma'am? Or are you from Columbus?"

She blinked, surprised. "Detroit, actually. You?"

"Chicago," he smiled, and she nodded. Now she could hear the mid-north accent. She was more impressed with his ability to hear her accent, which she tried to bury and speak standard American. Detroit held few happy memories, and having people come at you, asking you where you were from...didn't bring happy thoughts to her. But what were the chances that even a Na'vi fluent in English could tell where she was from? _How_ would they be able to do so? "Ma'am, I hate to be pushy, but I really do have important details about the Na'vi forces to tell Captain Burns. I think that they managed to get scouts ahead of us, and they found this outpost. We only managed to just barely beat their lead elements here, they should be arriving in no less than two hours."

"Roger. Private Hiruma, could you take the Staff Sergeant and his group to see Captain Burns, he should be in the CP." The young man nodded, and led the group further into the outpost. Avatars were lucky, she mused as she began to make her rounds of the short walls. They could breathe in a human environment for short periods of time, certainly long enough to deliver a message, though it was uncomforta-

She froze, heart stopping. That niggling sensation of something being wrong ran screamed full force to the front of her mind. Avatars had five fingers. The group that just went towards _her commander_ all had four fingers on each hand. She spun on her heel, stomach clenching up in fear, rage, and shock. "Alarm!" she screamed into her radio. "Alarm! Those are Na'vi, don't let them in to the-!" _**Kuh-DUMPH!**_ The CP turned into a ball of fire, smoke, and deadly shrapnel, and the concussive wave that snapped off of it faster than the speed of sound slammed into her, picking her up and throwing her down on the ground, knocking the wind out of her. She weakly rolled over, and tried to push herself, but the world was spinning and ringing, and she had to fight not to throw up. There was a terrible screeching of metal on metal, and she looked up in a daze as the radio tower tilted dangerously to the side before the still intact guy wires caught it. More horrifying was the flaming wreckage that used to be the CP. Her CO was in there. Her CO, who had been supportive and a great leader throughout this entire ordeal was in there. _She let the fuckers in there_!

A sob tore itself out of her throat. "I'm going to kill all of you!" she snarled through her blinding tears. "I will bathe in your _blood_!" She stood, ignoring how the world swayed with every step as she haltingly made her way towards the main gate. She was intercepted by Tan.

"Ma'am, Na'vi forces have been spotted moving from behind the cover of the hills! What are your orders?" he shouted over the sound of the fire and of the panicked shouts as soldiers came pouring out of the various buildings in various states of dress, but all with body armor, exopacks, and rifles, she abstractly noticed.

"Orders?" she numbly asked. Who was in charge now? Her?

"Ma'am, until you have been relieved by a superior officer, you are in command of this outpost and its defense. Now, what are your orders?"

The sharp crack that Tan put in his voice snapped her out of her haze, and she blinked, focusing. "Get all RDA personnel on the crew served weapons! I need our company to get to the fighting positions three minutes ago. Go!" Tan nodded, and spun on his heels, belting out orders as he ran. "Tanja!" she shouted out, and the Russian lieutenant appeared at her elbow. "Your platoon will fight the fire at the CP, and see if you can stabilize the radio tower before it falls and kills some of our people." She hit the command toggle for her radio so that all officers and platoon sergeants could hear her. "This is Zulu-tree-six, I need a status report on personnel and equipment, now! All personnel get to their fighting positions five minutes ago!"

A chorus of 'roger's bombarded her and the confused running about of soldiers turned orderly and directed. There was a hollow thud followed by another as the mortar crews reached their weapons and began to fire at the positions already being called out by observers already in their holes at the perimeter. Then the loud, angry buzzsaws that were the GAU-19 tri-barreled rotary machine guns in .50 caliber began to sound out from the corners of the outpost. She got off the command net and onto her platoon's channel. "All command personnel, on me!" Floyd, Vanderbuilt, Nakamura, and Tan sprinted over to her position, and she took a moment to breathe deep and take stock of the situation.

The outpost was surrounded on all four sides with raised berms that had reinforced fighting position dug into them. There was a small tower on each corner of the outpost that were crowned with pillboxes that had the GAU-19s and great fields of fire. Each wall also had permanent positions for two anti-material rifles and two GPMGs, and she could hear those firing. There were four 60mm mortars, two 81mm mortars, and one 120mm mortar arranged in a square within the compound itself, each mortar in its own firing pit, the 120mm mortar at the center of the square. She looked quickly to the 60mm mortars at the corners, and they were firing as quickly as they could at an enemy force that she didn't even know the composition of. The two 81mm mortars were also firing rapidly from their positions in between the 60mm mortars on the west and east sides of the square. The north and south sides of the square were dominated by the two AAA batteries on raised mounds for better access to the skies around the outpost. She licked her lips nervously when she noticed that one wasn't working, its crew taking off the radar dish that looked like a piece of shrapnel had torn through it. There was a replacement piece for that, thank God. "Floyd, what's the situation?"

"Enemy personnel are assaulting the fort on all sides," her RTO dutifully replied. "Mounted on direhorses, but they are being countered by our mine fields and other static defenses, as well as stiff gunfire." Just as he finished speaking, the ground around them erupted into geysers of dirt and stone, and the one functioning AAA battery screamed its defiance into the sky. She looked up, they all looked up to see a wave of banshees diving steeply towards the outpost, and her heart leapt up into her throat. There seemed to be too many to count, and though the tracers from the 20mm Vulcan rose up into the early morning sky, there wasn't enough to stop the Na'vi. Cool as a cucumber, Floyd was able to shout out that the enemy ground forces were falling back, and she got onto the command net, trying to keep calm as she ordered all soldiers to brace for an air attack and turn their eyes to the sky.

She could see soldiers moving out from the relative safety of their fighting positions to turn guns skyward, and the next few minutes were terrifying as the banshees drew close enough to fire at the human forces, bullets tearing into the ground, arrows sinking into sandbags and flesh, trying to knock out the one AAA battery, but it continued to fire. She didn't know how many bullets she fired into the air, nor how many of those actually hit. An eternity later, it seemed, the banshees withdrew, leaving the bodies of both banshee and Na'vi alike behind. She watched numbly as a few surviving Na'vi from the attack staggered away from their dead mounts, but they all refused to give quarter and fought to the death. Once the last died, a silence reigned over the outpost.

"Clear front!" came the shout from the main gate, followed by the other four sides.

"I need a situation report, now!" she ordered over the command net, and moments later, the details were in. Approximately seventy Na'vi were dead, with an unknown number that could be seen moving to surround the outpost. Twenty-four of her soldiers were dead, including those from the CP attack, and there were seventeen wounded. That wasn't reassuring. There were a _lot_ of Na'vi out there, reports stated, and they had managed to kill a tenth of the human defenders within the first half hour of fighting. She needed to make decisions. "All mortars are to cease fire until they have definitive targets, we need to conserve ammo. Snipers, continue to engage targets so long as you can hit them. Are there any areas that look like there isn't a heavy Na'vi presence?"

"To the south-east, ma'am," came the answer over the radio, and she closed her eyes, thinking quickly.

"Roger. I need a squad of the most wounded still capable of moving on their own to report to the landing pad. Heaven's Pass _has_ to know what's happening here."

"You're going to try and fly them out of here?" Tan asked quietly, off the radio, and she could hear the worry in his voice. It was a risky gamble, and she knew it.

"You know that there is some Unobtanium in these damn hills, so even the Samson radios can't quite get through the interference. That's why we needed that radio station to talk to Heaven's Pass. We need to get someone clear of that interference so that we can get the call for help out, and we need to do it now before we get too surrounded."

"Roger." She could tell he wasn't too happy, but she was in charge now, and she had to do _something_. It took only a few moments for the thirteen men to report to the Samson, nine wounded carrying rifles and grenades, a mix of RDA and EEF, one soldier clad in t-shirt, boxers, and unlaced boots with his armor thrown over them, a red bandage wrapped around his upper thigh. She glanced at her watch as the Samson gained power and took off. 0703hrs. Had it really only been an hour since she woke up? The Samson stuttered over the outpost, trying to gain forward velocity over altitude so that it could outrun the banshees. She watched its progress with baited breath, praying hard to a God that she wasn't sure existed. Just when the Samson seemed to clear the enemy perimeter, tracers leapt from the ground, and she cursed as she watched the soldiers on board try and return fire. But more and more fire poured upwards, until at least ten lines of tracers were lancing through the air, searching for and finding the aircraft.

She tasted nothing but ash as she watched the Samson shudder, black smoke pouring from its exhaust vents as it began to slide out of the air, crashing into a small hilltop. "They can't fight, stop shooting at them!" she screamed as she watched the Na'vi continue firing into the crashed bird, blue bodies dancing through the high grass as bullet after bullet slammed into the Samson before a bullet caught a fuel tank. The Samson erupted into a ball of flame. She wasn't aware that she was trying to climb over the berm, wasn't aware that she was screaming terrible, terrible things, wasn't aware until she was being dragged back down. At that, she regained her senses. "Mortars, you have your targets!" she snarled breathlessly, still seeing red. "_Destroy them_!"

The mortars all fired simultaneously, and she watched as the explosions rocked into the area, was aware that the snipers were directing fire not only for the mortars but also for the GAU-19s. There was a call for white phosphorous, and she watched with savage glee as the dry grass caught fire, the flames spreading faster than even a Na'vi could run. After five minutes, someone call for a cease fire, and the mortars silenced, though the soldiers on the AMRs continued to take potshots, their .50 caliber rifles causing even more damage. She was surprised when Tan forcibly grabbed her and dragged her towards the closest barracks, shoving her into the airlock before following her. "_Never_ do that again!" he snarled, and she paused, shocked. His voice was well and truly pissed as all hell. "You are a fucking leader, not a soldier! If you went down, we'd all go down!"

"There are several more officers here, Sergeant First Class, we're hardly doomed if I die!" she snapped back, and then stumbled back, her head snapped to the side, Tan holding up an open hand. "Did you just...slap me?" she asked, incredulously.

"In my home I would get slapped for saying such stupid things as you!" he snarled. "You are the best leader here, and are the most likely to pull us out of this mess. We have the entire Na'vi Army bearing down on us, and you are talking about dying? We do not need another killer, we need a leader! Be that leader, or you will go to hell with two hundred souls dragging you down. You've already got thirty-seven, do you really want more?" Without another word, he spun around and headed outside, and she stood there numbly for a moment before the radio came to life in her ear, reporting that the Na'vi were attacking again.

She ran outside. What Tan had said was true. She needed to be in charge, not only of the other soldiers, but of herself. One more incident like that, and her own soldiers wouldn't follow her anymore. She needed to be cool, collected. She needed to win this battle. A battle that might be impossible to win. When she climbed up the berm around the main gate to get eyes on the enemy attack (it was a small attack, testing which areas of their defenses were weak...the answer was none, as the Na'vi found out) she could see the rest of the Na'vi Army coming like a steady blue trickle that stretched almost to the horizon. Sully had played them all, used their reliance on the satellites against them. Move slow, so that they thought he was waiting for all of his army to get in one area, then once the last satellite passed overhead and he was close enough, surge forward, pushing his soldiers to their limit. They could reasonably cover that distance with banshees and direhorses, leaving the infantry to catch up.

The probing attack was repulsed, and she ran over to the center of the outpost, calling for all the officers to group in on her. They ran up, and her heart clenched to see that Tanja was sporting a bandage around her upper arm. "Ma'am, what are your orders?" she asked in a crisp, all business voice.

"Right, our mission is clear. We will cause as much damage to the Na'vi forces as possible until our last man has fallen and they move on to our main base." She could feel the shock of those around her. "It's simple. We're outnumbered well over two-to-one, and these guys are trained soldiers, not some Na'vi hunter who was given a gun. We've got slightly less than three hours to survive. Sully knows that. He also knew our pass codes, our names, when we did our radio transmission, everything. He needs to win this fight. We have one hundred fifty soldiers to stop it. I did a rough count of more than two thousand Na'vi, and there are still more coming." There was a distant thud. "And they have mortars. Take cover!" They all jumped into the 120mm mortar pit as the five rounds slammed into the earth, rattling her back teeth. "Counter fire!"

"Our snipers have eyes on, getting the coordinates now," Floyd calmly replied, and within thirty seconds and one enemy salvo to endure that left someone screaming for a medic, her mortars answered. "Shots on target, shots on target, repeat!" she heard over the radio, and the mortars fired again. There was no more enemy incoming, and she scrambled out of the mortar pit.

"Tan, take over command of third platoon, everyone else, report to your platoons. Tanja, your platoon is going to be my reserve. I know that you are trained as engineers over soldiers, but now, everyone are soldiers. I need your men." Tanja nodded grimly. Engineering infantry being used as a back-up force for Special Operations infantry? Leading cattle into the meat grinder. Storch fervently hoped that she wouldn't need Tanja's soldiers. She checked her watch. 0724. At 1000hrs, they were supposed to make another radio check. Two and a half hours. Now if there was only a way to get a message out. She groaned with frustration.

It was then that the Na'vi surrounding the outpost began to make noise. Her skin crawled as they all collectively began to howl, scream, shout, and yell, the noise rolling over the battlements in an unearthly wail. Then the gunfire started, and she winced at the volume of it. It sounded like the entire world was trying to kill them. Tracers flitted overhead, followed by a handful of rockets. _We are the arrow, shot ahead of the spear, to hit the enemy before they can strike our main force. And, like an arrow shot carelessly, we are about to be broken_. She remembered the story of Rorke's Drift, how a British military unit had been cut off and surrounded by a much larger force of Zulu warriors. Hopefully their situation ended like that battle. Much better than the alternative. Custer's Last Stand was not a fate that she particularly wanted. The reports came in as fast as the enemy fire. Na'vi attacking, using fire and maneuver, not slowing down even with heavy casualties. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen," she said after activating the base frequency so that everyone could hear her, "these bastards want this real estate. Let's show them how much it costs! Hold the line, hold the line, hold the line, _hold_! We'll show these bastards how to play the game!"


	21. Men of Harlech

**AN: Okay, so, yeah. This chapter is pretty darn depressing. Not surprising, though, considering everything. The outpost is surrounded by a crap-ton load of ticked off Na'vi. Na'vi who are darn determined to win this fight. Wouldn't be so bad, but the humans have no air support or artillery support. That's the true winner of battles for the humans. Without it, well...read and find out, I suppose. There is some good news. The next chapter is pretty much done, save for some minor editing, and the next chapter after that shouldn't take too long. I'll update next Friday, and by then the next chapter should be done, so the next two Fridays should be update days.**

**Read, enjoy (if that's possible), and please review! **

MEN OF HARLECH

Sergeant First Class Yong-Sun Tan glanced at his watch, cursing as he saw the time displayed. Only 0907hrs...they still had to hold out slightly less than an hour to survive, and he honestly didn't know if they would make it. The Na'vi had thrown a mixture of skill and pure blunt force at them, and most of the outpost defenses had been deployed or cleared by the Na'vi, and they came once more, howling up the hillside littered with their dead and pockmarked with craters from mortars and grenades. They didn't show any sign of breaking, of having lowered morale, and that was worrisome. "Come on, Third Platoon!" he roared over the radio. "Fight them off again, fight these bastards off!" That, too, was becoming harder. Early on in the fight, the pillboxes housing the GAU-19s had become the target of severe rocket barrages, gunfire, and mortarfire, and three of them were out of commission, two of which were on his left and right flanks. Once those towers were gone, the Na'vi then concentrated fire on the dug in humans. A third of the platoon was either dead or wounded bad enough that they couldn't fight. Only one more hour...

The heavy impact of the shockwave from a mortar shell, and he watched in horror as two more soldiers' vital signs went flat. A mortar had hit a fighting position dead on. He cursed. There was now a hole in the line, almost dead center of Third Platoon's position. "Sanchez, on me!" he snapped, and the guidon bearer appeared at his elbow, green pennant flapping in the slight breeze. "We're plugging that hole!" The young private nodded, and they ran forward. Before they could climb the inner side of the berm, however, a Na'vi warrior crested the ridge. Faster than a blink, his rifle was up, and he put three rounds into the Na'vi warrior's chest. It dropped. "Come on!" he roared, and the two of them surged up the berm. "Here, plant the flag here!" he ordered, pointing to the explosion disturbed earth before the fighting position that used to hold Corporal Nasir Anwar and Private First Class Roselyn Mendes, and now only held two shredded and shattered bodies. Team leader and grenadier, Buddha help them all. They needed the leadership and the grenade launcher. "Third, Third! This guidon will not move! Don't let them take it!"

He could see them turning their heads towards him, could feel their shock as tracers flitted around him, narrowly missing both him and Sanchez, who wisely dropped down into the hole that held the remains of two of his battle buddies. Tan knew that he couldn't, that he had to be seen by all of his men and women. They needed to see him, to see a symbol of motivation and determination. He would not..._could_ not hide like a simpering coward. Dropping to the kneeling position, he braced his elbow against his knee and began to take even, measured shots, as though this were simply a day on the range. A bullet landed a foot short of where he was, spraying him with dirt and rock. He merely shook his head to clear the visor of dirt and dust, and continued to fire, reloading smoothly and quickly, no fear jerking his movements.

He could feel the change. One moment, his platoon had been starting to panic, the Na'vi reaching the crest of the hill, exploiting a hole, the next moment the platoon was calm, cool, collected, taking aimed shots as he was. It took only two minutes and several near misses for the Na'vi charge to break, and the platoon gave a brief and exhausted cheer. It had already been two hours that had stretched into eternity. They had no reserves save for the engineering platoon, and two hours of constant fighting was taking its toll. The Na'vi kept coming in wave after wave, with the ability to cycle out tired soldiers with fresh soldiers who just arrived. The mines had helped, the concertina wire and the razor wire had helped, the tanglefoot had been effective, and the foo gas and claymores had decimated the first few waves. But it hadn't been enough, especially once their heaviest machineguns had been disabled or destroyed. Now the Na'vi had to be fought off with rifles, GPMGs, grenades, and mortars when they weren't busy countering Na'vi mortars. Things weren't looking good. He glanced behind him, into the outpost, and winced at the casualties that were piling up, some being moved into the hospital, while there was a growing line of bodies, ponchos pulled up over heads. The engineers were already so busy...too busy to plug a hole if one developed. He watched them running around, getting water from the well to the wounded, to the mortars to cool them down, passing out ammo...one such runner lugged two ammo cans up to his wall, passing out fully loaded magazines. Tan gratefully took the two magazines offered to him when the runner reached him, while the back of his mind asked if it would be enough. He was running frightfully low...they all were.

"Here they come!" came the shout, and now he jumped down into the hole with Sanchez. His platoon had been reassured, and the guidon was still planted. They knew the stakes. A couple of shots rang out, and the bounding, dodging blue mass still sprinted up the hill, Na'vi warriors firing from the hip or pausing to occasionally drop to a knee to fire more carefully.

"They've got to come to us!" he reminded over the radio. "Take aimed shots, precision will break their charge over wild shots." And we don't have the ammo to spare, he didn't say as he carefully aimed for what appeared to be some sort of leader amongst the Na'vi, the fool pointing and shouting. Before he could take the shot, one of the RDA soldiers on an AMR fired, and the Na'vi went down, a hole larger than Tan's hand blown out his back. Tan shifted to another Na'vi warrior, who was two hundred meters out. Close enough for...he caressed the trigger, and the Na'vi's head snapped back. Tan searched for another target, found one, fired. Did it again. And again. And again. The Na'vi were fifty meters away when Tan reached for a magazine that still had rounds in it, but couldn't find one. Rather than waste time searching for more ammo, he took a deep steadying breath as he drew his sidearm. Two-handed grip, aim slightly high. A percussive wall of grenades exploding spoiled his aim but slowed the Na'vi down enough for the GPMGs to strafe their lines, cutting the Na'vi down _en masse_. He noticed distantly that first one Na'vi warrior turned and fled, then two did, and then a group of five did, and then the attack was over, the Na'vi turning and retreating down the hill. "Don't shoot!" he shouted. "Save your ammo!"

The machineguns silenced, the assistant gunners changing the barrels, and even from forty feet away, Tan could see the heat waves radiating off of the one on his left. Not good. The other barrel that the a-gunner was now slotting into the machine gun was still hot from the last barrel change. "Squad leaders, ammo check," he called out into his radio, and the reports that he got back was not good at all. Most soldiers were down to one or two magazines, at most three. The GPMGs had maybe two hundred rounds apiece, and that wasn't enough to push back the next wave. Grenadiers were also dangerously low, and the automatic riflemen had one or two fifty round drums left per weapon. One in every three soldiers had a single grenade left. "Ma'am, this is Third Platoon, we can't hold off another wave without a complete refit of ammo."

There was a pause on the other end of the radio, and he turned back to see Lieutenant Storch on the radio, turning her head towards each of the four walls. He could see the Na'vi forming up for another attack out on the lowland, and he swallowed dryly, realizing just how thirsty he was. He reached up to toggle the key on his radio, but before he could give another message reporting the dire situation of his platoon, Storch answered his call. "Sergeant Tan, leave the GPMGs, the AMRs, and your automatic riflemen on line to cover our retreat. Have the rest of your men fall back and move the walking wounded, ammo, and the mortars back to the landing zone."

"The landing pad, roger. Ma'am, what about the soldiers already in the hospital?"

"They are unarmed, and the surgeon has been ordered to surrender peacefully in the event that the doors are breached." He froze in place, heart stopping, mouth turning to ash, the bottom of his stomach dropping out. Was she suggesting that...her voice began to come through the radio again. "All personnel monitoring this channel, we can no longer hold the outpost. The soldiers in the hospital are unable to fight or move from their position, and the notice on the door says as much. They are non-combatants. We have no choice. We will fall back to the landing zone and form our defense there."

Tan thought for a moment, looking at the state of his platoon and then placing that same state all throughout the rest of the outpost, if not worse. 3rd Platoon was still the best platoon, and if they were unable to hold, how bad was it for 1st or 2nd Platoon? It was a hard decision to make, but she had to make it. He quickly rattled off who was to stay and who was to go aid the move back. They began to move, and he began to wait. "Sarn't, what do you want me to do?" Sanchez, still at his side, voice steady.

"You're with me, Sanchez," he said, putting as much confidence into his voice as he could. "When the rest of us move back, you'll take care of the guidon." The young soldier nodded, and Tan turned his attention to the front. He only hoped that they'd have the chance to fall back before the Na'vi crested the hill.

"Hey, Sarn't!" someone called out, and he turned around. Ammo bearers. Thank Buddha, they might be able to hold off the Na'vi long enough now. They were also bringing extra barrels for the GPMGs. The soldier who had called out, one of the RDA troopers who he didn't recognize, dropped a satchel full to the brim with magazines. "Figure you could use these more'n us, sarn't. Wear out the lining of your barrel, yeah?" With a cocky grin, the man spun around and headed back down the hill, joined by the other ammo bearers in moving necessary equipment back.

The Na'vi were still forming up. Strange, he had expected them to come in full force by now. He checked his watch, praying for as late a time as possible. 0922hrs. Not late enough. Only over an hour until ground forces could expect to come to the rescue, but hopefully artillery or air support would come in shortly after 1000hrs. They needed it bad. "Alright, Third! We've got some ammo to spend, let's use it!" The Na'vi were out of range for point targets, but there were still some clumps of the Na'vi that they could fire upon. Maybe eight hundred meters...close enough for the heavy 8mm round to do plenty of damage. He adjusted his sights accordingly, aimed at a cluster of Na'vi, and let loose a three round burst. The GPMGs and automatic rifles began firing with measured five to eight round bursts, and he watched in satisfaction as the Na'vi all dropped into the high grass. That was exactly what they shouldn't do. They needed to get up and maneuver aggressively, not hold position. The longer they held still, the more chance that there was that Heaven's Pass would send help. "Keep it up, Third, keep it up! Pour it on them!" Never let them think that he was gone. He wouldn't ever abandon his soldiers. "Keep firing!"

xxxXXXxxx

Senko and Heffelfinger crept stealthily through the tall grass, ghillie suits on, burlap and cut grass wrapped around and rubber banded to their gear and their rifles. The Na'vi were busy as bees around them, sometimes coming within forty feet of their position. But that was okay. They were very patient. Their target? The second largest hill in the chain. Likely that the Na'vi had some sort of eyes up there, keeping tabs on the human outpost. It was also a good position to get eyes on the situation of the battle, as well as eyes on enemy HVTs. It would also be nice to find out why the outpost wasn't answering any of their radio calls. Before they had come into range of the flux generated off of the Unobtanium in these hills, they had reported that the Na'vi were moving fast and hard, going for a specific objective. It had been a hard push to shadow the Na'vi, but they had managed. Now the real question was where the air support was? Where was the main body of the EEF or the RDA? Why wasn't anyone answering the radio?

A tap on his boot, and he stopped moving. Two fingers pressing into his calf, and then a squeeze on his ankle. Two enemies, approaching, danger close. Shit. He glanced around without moving his head. They had been moving along an ancient creek bed that was completely dried out and filled with grass and weeds now. If they needed to, they could kill the two and hide their bodies in the creek. However, he didn't want to kill anyone unless he absolutely had to. At least not until they were in position at the top of the hill. He could hear them, now, over the sound of the battle on the other side of the hill looming above him. Two voices, talking about the battle, laughing, joking, hoping for a win. Broken talking tower, result of a sneak attack from the EIU? Who the hell were the EIU? But a broken talking tower might explain why the outpost had been radio silent, at least, if the talking tower was the radio tower. That was very bad. No radio tower meant no reinforcements, which meant that they were running out of time, and fast. The two were complaining about heavy casualties, but they had also done quite a bit of damage. Not good. But then Heffelfinger drew a circle on his calf. No enemies watching. Bad news for these two fools.

Heffelfinger initiated the countdown. Three fingers...two fingers...one finger...he lunged up, grabbing the Na'vi (who had been standing right next to him while undoing his loincloth) by the face, almost but not quite reveling in the look of absolute horror clear in the Na'vi's eyes as he pulled him into the creek bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Heffel slam his knife up and under the ribs of the second Na'vi, piercing the great heart before pulling the body down. "_Silence_,_ or you die_!" he hissed in Na'vi, and the warrior stopped struggling for a moment, fear still readily visible in his eyes. "_Who are the EIU_?" He drew his knife, trailing the tip of it down the side of the warrior's face. "_Answer, or you go to Eywa blind, mute, and crippled_!"

"_Pr-pretenders_! _They wear the Sky People clothes, talk their language, act like they do, to spread confusion amongst them_! _Four went in to the Sky People strong place, and spread death and fire there_."

Without any hesitation or remorse, Senko sunk his knife down into the base of the Na'vi's neck, pinning the body as it twitched and jerked against the deadly intrusion. Pulling the knife free, he cleaned it quickly before sheathing it. "This EIU is probably up on that hill," he murmured quietly. "We need to get up there, kill or capture them, and figure out the situation. We need to move fast." He raised his head slowly, taking stock of the situation. No enemy were looking this way, all of them busy digging fighting positions and setting up weapons. In that instant, Senko realized exactly what was going on. This wasn't just about the outpost, though that was the crowning glory of this attack. This was a truly organized attack. He could see it all. The EEF and the RDA would come out piecemeal, they didn't have the transportation capabilities to move everyone at once. Sully had his entire army here, right now. He'd be able to outflank the humans, be able to turn the EEF and the RDA. Air support was good and all, but jets needed to rearm, and in that time, the Na'vi could rout the humans. Oh, this was not good at all. "We need to move as quickly as we can!" he hissed before moving forward at a low crouch, keeping his head below the rim of the creek at all times.

xxxXXXxxx

Lieutenant Rockwell of the Elite Infiltration Unit, Omaticaya Shock Army, Grand Army of the Na'vi, watched as the last humans pulled off of the walls that were pockmarked with rocket craters and bullet holes. He had sent his four best operatives into that fort with a heavy heart, but they had known what they were doing, what sacrifice they had to make. And, oh, they had performed perfectly. He had waited with bated breath as they were held up at the gate, but then they were let in, and moments later, the explosion. The explosion that signaled the death of his four soldiers also signified the destruction of the human link to their home base. He hoped that they would go to Eywa with pride in their hearts. The speed that the humans had managed to react was astounding, however, and he respected their fighting ability. Whoever was in charge of the defense was good, considering the situation. The only thing that he hadn't liked about the commander was sending out the metal ikran...the _Samson_, he corrected himself with a mental frown, for support. But then, the thing he didn't like was how his fellow Na'vi kept attacking the Samson after it crashed. Those people could have been captured. There had been no attempt to get them to surrender, just bullets. His brother's life had been saved after the Battle of the Plains because of Sky Peo..._human_ bandages that had been given to Sully after the battle. The EEF proved that they could be honorable adversaries. The Na'vi owed them the same thing.

He didn't like seeing his fellow soldiers get destroyed with mortar and gunfire, but they had earned that by acting like undisciplined savages. What hurt was watching the hundreds get killed as they tried to assault the hill. Those brave souls charging into known death...how stupid war was. Hunters, gatherers, story-tellers, fishers, artisans...so many bright futures taken out by the bullet of a human. But he didn't hate the humans for it. They were fighting so that the futures of their own people didn't end. They weren't fighting for greed, they were fighting for survival. They weren't like the RDA that had been a source of terror ten years ago, when he was just a young boy. They had brought pain to his people, killed his mother and father when they destroyed the Home Tree. The anger was still as fresh as it had been all those years ago. How _dare_ they! There had been no reason for it, he knew of other deposits of the metal Unobtanium. Greed alone had led to the destruction of his home, the murder of his parents, and the pain of watching all he had known get consumed in smoke and fire.

But Sully insisted that the EEF was different, and Rockwell had seen as much so far in the conflict. The worst thing that they had done was destroy the Tree of Souls, but that had been a message more than anything else. He didn't like it, but had he been on the human side, he would have done something similar. After that point, they hadn't attacked any civilian targets, and only attacked known troop concentrations. They were keeping the war with the warriors, despite the fact that they could hit the Na'vi anywhere at any time. Admirable of them. And so, because they were being honorable, the Na'vi armies were still strong, and now they had pushed the humans back off of the walls. Had they gone back to the landing zone? Probably. Consolidate and reorganize. But what about the hospital on site? "Baseplate, this is Phoenix Two, do you copy, over?"

Sully's voice answered almost immediately. "Yeah, I hear you, Phoenix, go ahead."

"I'm concerned about the hospital in the outpost. I've got eyes on, and it looks like the EEF and RDA are pulling back, possibly to the LZ. If they do that, they can't defend the outpost hospital, over."

"Orders have already been issued, all non-combatants are to be viewed as such, and taken into custody. Severely wounded will be left in the hospital and their medical personnel will be allowed to remain and treat such individuals, over."

"Roger, all non-combatants will be treated as such, and will be treated fairly. Phoenix two, out."

"Aw, that's so kind of you. Now we don't have to worry about putting Sully up on war crimes." Rockwell flinched at the voice, spinning around, hand reaching for his rifle. "Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you." Rockwell froze at that sentence, with good reason. There were two of them, dressed in camouflage suits that looked like bushes, and they both had massive rifles, currently pointing at him.

He licked his lips nervously, eyes darting around. Four of his own had died at the outpost, but there were still twelve of them left. Two versus twelve? He'd live with those odds. His hand crept towards his rifle. He'd die, but his troops would kill these two. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Prisoners," the taller one said, accent almost Germanic, but not quite...maybe Russian? "We already got three of you, but you seem to be the leader."

"There's more of us than just four!" he snapped, steeling himself to grab the rifle. But the Avatar's cold, hard laughter stopped him.

"Three is the number we've captured. We've killed eight of you. So now, the only question you have to ask, is do you want to be number four, or number nine? Surrender, and you'll see the end of the war. Resist, and you'll die."

Rockwell froze at that, mind racing. His teammates were either dead or captured. If he tried to fight, he'd die before he would be able to kill either of them. If he surrendered, he would be able to survive and possibly fight another day. Gather information, possibly escape, provide vital information for Sully. He had to surrender, even if he didn't like it. Gritting his teeth, he raised his hands in surrender. The was a blinding rush of movement and he was slammed face first down on the ground, hands being twisted behind his back, flexicuffs slapping around his wrists. A gag was stuffed in his mouth, and then a hood pulled over his head. The two began conversing in a rolling, heavy language. Russian? Whatever it was, he didn't understand it. These two were smart, and highly skilled. There was the metallic clacking of a weapon being readied...a big one. The sound of someone walking away, and minutes later, multiple people came stumbling in before people were pushed to the ground near him. His fellow operatives, hopefully. The two enemy soldiers began to converse in Russian again, and he settled himself down, conserving his strength. He would bide his time. There was nothing else that he could do...

xxxXXXxxx

"All remaining personnel on the walls, fall back, fall back!"

"That's us, Sanchez!" Tan calmly said, and the young man sprang out of the hole as Tan fired another burst down range at the Na'vi. "Secure the guidon," he ordered as he aimed, fired at, and killed what looked like a leader amongst the Na'vi wave surging up the hill.

"Roger, Sar-!" Sanchez started to reply, but a hissing snap interrupted him, and Tan turned, fearing the worst. Sanchez was lying face down in the dirt, writhing as his hands clutched at a badly bleeding neck. No time to think, only to react. Tan grabbed the guidon, letting his rifle fall loose and dangling in its three-point sling as he grabbed Sanchez by the back of his armor and pulled him down the berm and into the outpost. Spotting one of the Automatic Riflemen pulling off the line, he waved him over.

"Hartmann, get Sanchez over to the hospital!"

Hartmann sprinted over, sliding to a stop next to the two of them. He paused, coughing dryly before speaking. "Sarn't, I think he's dead."

Tan froze, glancing down at Sanchez. He had stopped moving, and the bleeding slowed from the initial gushing spurts down to a steady but diminishing trickle. "Shit. Secure the guidon."

"Sarn't Tan, help!" came the panicked call, and he spun, looking back towards the berm. The call had come from Sergeant Björndottir, in charge of the second GPMG team. The Na'vi were swarming over where he had last seen them, in their fighting position. She must have had her team stay to cover the final fall back. He brought his rifle up and began firing, but watched as she and her team died, their vital signs blanking out, along with Sergeant Bartikofsky, Alpha Antimaterial Rifleman, who had been on Björndottir's left. There was a roar, and the Na'vi disappeared in a cloud of blood, dust, and scattered limbs. The 20mm Vulcans were being used in an anti-personnel role.

"Sergeant, you get your ass back to the LZ!" the RDA Lieutenant in charge of the mercenaries screamed, his face a brave, ferocious mask. "We were assigned this outpost, and we _won't_ give it up. Go! We'll cover your retreat!" Sure enough, half of the RDA were finding cover in the now empty mortar pits, most of their faces scared, but all of them were determined. The 20mm roared again, joined by the other, which was covering the other half of the outpost. Any Na'vi coming over the berm was met with a hail of the heavy rounds. "Move, Sergeant!" he roared over the sound of the gunfire, and Tan was off, escorting the remaining rearguard of 3rd back through the gate leading to the LZ, listening to the sound of the Vulcans firing more and more.

The LZ was the scene of frantic activity as soldiers collected magazines from the ammo boxes, mortars set up, firing as best they could, and he could see Lieutenant Storch in the Samson, on the radio. Telling the soldiers who had fallen back with him where to go, he sprinted over to Storch, hope beating in his chest. But once he drew close enough to hear her, that hope died. "Homebase actual, this is Zulu-Tree-Six actual, can you hear me? We are under heavy enemy attack, and will be unable to hold our position for much longer!" Her thumb came off the PTT button, but nothing but crackling static answered her. "_Fuck_!" she snarled, throwing the mic away from her. "Bart, keep trying to hail them, maybe we'll get lucky," she snapped to the pilot who was sitting in the cockpit with his copilot. The man nodded, and began doing as told, talking through the headset of his aviator helmet. "Platoon leaders, on me!" she ordered through her company radio, her voice surprisingly calm. Four soldiers ran over to meet them, and Tan felt his shoulders sag when he noticed that there was only two officers in the bunch, and of the two noncommissioned officers to join them, only one of them was a platoon sergeant. Storch sighed heavily when she noticed the same thing. "Lieutenants Hermann and Archambault?" she asked wearily. "Platoon Sergeant Walker?"

"Walker was in the CP when it got blown," Staff Sergeant Alston reported, voice hoarse. "Ell-tee Hermann caught a round sometime around zero-nine, ma'am. My platoon is fucked up." Tan had noticed Storch's miniscule flinch at mention of the CP, but she nodded at the report.

"Lieutenant Hermann got zapped as we were pulling back, ell-tee," Platoon Sergeant Gonzalez reported, voice exhausted. "We're at about two-thirds strength."

There was a series of explosions from the outpost behind them, and they all turned as the reports came in. "Storch, they're using a lot of grenades, we can't hold this position any longer, Godspee-!" the transmission was cut off with an explosion from the outpost larger than the others, followed by a lot of secondary pops and cracks as ammo began to cook off.

Storch flinched, more heavily this time, her hand flying to her arm, and Tan noticed the bandage for the first time. It was covered in dirt like the rest of her. The notice of the bandage led to other discoveries. She was bleeding from multiple areas, light scratches from unknown sources. Lieutenant Artyomov walked up to her, laying a gentle hand on Storch's shoulder, and Storch moved a hand to cover the Russian's in a surprisingly heartfelt gesture. In any other situation, he would question the wisdom of such a move, but now, after what was happening, how could he deny her that last human comfort. "Gentlemen, ladies, we are unable to contact Heaven's Pass. We are running low on ammo and on medical supplies. The Na'vi have taken the outpost, and are likely massing within the cover of its walls to assault us. We have run out of time. We are going to make the Na'vi pay a butcher's bill for every inch of land that they take from us. It was..." she said, voice tightening and growing more hoarse. She was crying, Tan realized numbly. "It was...an honor to know all of you, to be part of the same company." She paused, fiddling with her radio. "Delta Reapers," she called out, voice clearer, and Tan saw heads turning towards them. She was talking to everyone. "You know the price we have to pay, but know that here, today, we are fighting for the future of our people! I am proud to have known you all, proud to have been an officer of such fine soldiers. Now! _We are the best goddamn company humanity has to offer_!" she cried out, and Tan's heart leapt at the ferocity in her voice. "_We. Will. Not. Yield_!" She paused, drawing in a breath, head swiveling as she looked over the hurt, bleeding remains of Delta Company, men and women who had suffered much but who weren't yet broken. "We will fight until the Na'vi are so sickened of dying that they will never raise an army against our people again! We will fight, we will kill, and we will push on until the last of us draws breath! We will not be forgotten for what we have done here today! Now! Delta Reapers! What do we do?"

"_**REAPERS NEVER QUIT**_!" the company sounded back. The first time the Company motto was heard in the field of combat.

"Return to your men, and fight. And..." she hopped off the company net and went to the command channel. "...I'm sorry."

Tan froze at that before glancing around the others gathered around there. "Ma'am?" All of them, even Artyomov, popped to attention and offered snappy salutes. No sniper could see them, and she had to know that despite everything, they all still respected her. Storch didn't respond for a long moment before she answered their salutes with a slow one of her own. Once she dropped her arm, they were gone, moving back to their platoons. Tan was making sure that all the soldiers in 3rd were green on ammo and water when it started. Officers, it is known, do not traditionally take part in cadences. The cadence was conducted by the NCOs and sung by the enlisted. As such, he had never heard Lieutenant Storch sing before. As such, he was slightly confused when the singing began.

"Meeen of Harlech, stop your dreaming," came the soft voice of the mezzo-soprano, hesitant, unsure, wavering with the first notes, but the singer quickly gained confidence. "Can't you see their spear points gleaming? See their warrior banners streaming, to this battlefield!"

By that point, Tan had figured it out. While on Earth, one of the missions given to officers was to research famous last stands, and to point out what had been done correctly, and what hadn't been done correctly. Lieutenant Storch had chosen the Battle of Rorke's Drift, and had even found an antiquated movie on the subject named Zulu. Despite the corniness of the action scenes, she had liked the movie, and had the platoon watch it enough times to memorize it near word for word. Including the song, "Men of Harlech." Without keying his mic, he joined in, along with more and more members of 3rd Platoon. "Men of Harlech, stand ye steady. It cannot be ever said ye, for the battle, were not ready, Welsh men will not yield!"

"We're Earth men, and let these blue bastards know it," came from someone amongst the ranks, and Tan couldn't help but agree.

By now, more soldiers joined in from around the LZ, possibly soldiers from Britain, or those who knew ancient songs of battle. It didn't matter. The singing was bolstering spirits, and was loud enough that the Na'vi had to hear them. Let them know that they were not broken! "From the hills rebounding! Let this song be sounding! Summon all, at Cambria's call, the mighty force surrounding! Men of Harlech, come to glory! This will ever be your story! Keep these burning words before ye: Earth men will not yield!"

By the time they started the second verse, the entire unit was singing. It was into this singing that the Na'vi attacked, and Tan was proud, so very proud of every man and woman fighting at his sides, proud that they continued singing even as they fought, even though the gunfire almost drowned the words out. It didn't matter. The words were in every soldier's heart, and they would remain even after death. This was no longer Scheißberg hill, but Harlech Hill, he could feel it in his bones. "Come on, keep fighting!" he shouted over the singing, over the gunfire, and he paused as moaning answered him. Moaning? Were there that many wounded? No...this moaning was different. He cast his eyes upward to see the rocket salvos fly in with moaning screams, the rockets exploding well above the deck, showering the Na'vi warriors still in the lowlands around the hills with submunitions. He sagged in relief. Finally, finally, they had artillery support.

He almost felt like crying as he heard the Samson pilot calling out that he had command on the horn, that air was coming in hot and heavy, and that soldiers were going to be within support distance in ten minutes. He heard Storch calling for Sergeant Nakamura to get on the horn and to direct the support distantly, as he was still preoccupied with the Na'vi still attack from the outpost. A grenade sailed up over the LZ walls, landing amongst his surviving GPMG team, and they scrambled away from it before it exploded. Cries for medic sang forth, and he once more ran forward to plug the hole with his own body. "Come on, Third!" he roared. "We have them on the ropes! We've got friendlies coming to save our sorry-!"

A trio of jackhammer blows, two in the chest, one in the neck, and he floated backwards, confusion and shock overwhelming any pain. He was oh so distantly aware of his body hitting the deck, distantly aware that he had been shot three times. Oh, God, his men and women! Storch! He couldn't...couldn't slip away...couldn't quit...couldn't...his last conscious thought was not a thought, but a feeling of great shame and sadness. A sadness for how he couldn't see his architectural plans for after the war come to fruition. Shame for how he had dishonored his family, and let down those who depended on him. A darkness rushed in. Nothing, sweet nothing.

Sergeant First Class Yong-Sun Tan ceased to be, slipping into a great, never-ending void.


	22. My Kingdom For a Horse

**AN: Well, here it is. One of the last of the overly depressing chapters. The next chapter is already written, and I'm working on the one after that, so the update schedule should remain failry regular. As a note to the previous chapter, Tan was shot multiple times in the chest and neck, but that's not an immediate death sentence. We do know, however, that he lost consciousness. The neck shot also likely severed one of his carotid arteries and possible damaged his trachea and/or spine. He's hurt, but we don't know if he's dead or barely alive just yet. Yaaay, suspense! The end of this chapter, however, should not cause any misconceptions...**

**Read, enjoy, and please review (even if it's to say that you hate me)!**

MY KINGDOM FOR A HORSE

Treleaven glanced at his watch. 0926hrs. He glanced around the command center, wondering where this fidgety feeling had come from. The outpost wasn't due to report for another thirty-four minutes, and Captain Burns hadn't sounded the least bit concerned after the last transmission. Everything was normal. So why did it feel like it wasn't? How peculiar. He spotted Randall, who had been acting more and more irritable as time had gone on, and Treleaven didn't know why. It made him rather uncomfortable. "Have we heard from any of the Avatar teams?" he asked, and got a few affirmatives and a one negative from the different teams in charge of each Avatar unit. Most reported that the Na'vi were all moving in the same direction, and that the current course would get them near the outpost in a day or two. The soldiers at the outpost knew that already, they had been briefed that the previous night. "Which teams aren't reporting?" The answer he got back wasn't entirely reassuring. It was Senko and Heffelfinger, had had been dropped the closest to Sully's portion of the Na'vi Army. They would be the closest to the outpost. "Raise them, if you would."

The communications personnel tried to hail Senko. No answer but static. Unusual. Neither of them were killed or captured, as their human bodies were still connected to their Avatars. But if they were in range of the outpost, the radio tower there should have been able to forward their signals through. "Right, that's it. Raise the outpost. I want to know if they have eyes on the team, or even the Na'vi."

"Treleaven, sir, do you think that that is necessary?" Randall jumped in forcefully, a slight edge of hysteria to his voice...buried deep, but still there. Treleaven froze, not liking what he heard.

"Yes, it is necessary. Ah, Captain Gaznayez, Lieutenant Rockwell. I realize that I seem to have forgotten my reading spectacles, would you mind going to get them from my quarters? You know the code."

His two aides looked up at him sharply, Gaznayez with cold, calculating eyes, whereas Rockwell's showed only shocked surprise. "General, are you certain?" Gaznayez asked, voice devoid of all emotion. "Did you check your pockets?"

He checked his pockets. "Well, blast, I seem to truly have forgotten my spectacles. If you would, please retrieve them for me."

Gaznayez stared at him for a moment longer, face unreadable as he glanced at the young lieutenant standing next to him. "Absolutely, General. We should not be long. Do you wish for anything else?"

"Some tea, please, as well as some scones. I'm sure that I have some left over from my breakfast." The Russian captain nodded curtly, turned on his heel, and left the room, Lieutenant Rockwell trotting after him. General Treleaven sighed a breath of relief. Now that they were safe, he could resume business. "Sergeant Jones, I believe I ordered you to try and bring up the outpost?"

"I did, sir, but there was no answer."

Treleaven glanced at Randall, who had a face as unreadable as Gaznayez had a moment ago, but there was a vicious glint in his eyes. "I see. I want a command bird to fly that way immediately. Raise the QRF force for immediate deployment, and all soldiers are to prepare for battle. I fear the worst."

"Roger, sir." The command center burst into frantic activity. "Where do you want the QRF to go?"

"Five hundred meters northwest of the hill chain, unless forced to do otherwise by enemy forces." The next twenty minutes passed by in a blur that seemed to last for an eternity. The QRF for the day was the Brits Battalion, and within moments of his order, they were being moving, transported in APCs, God bless the mechanized infantry. The vehicles were capable of doing one hundred kilometers per hour, even over the plains, and they certainly would be doing so now. They would be able to get to the outpost, or close enough to support it, in half-an-hour or so. All artillery was being prepped for air transport so that they could be within range of the outpost and its surroundings. The rest of the infantry was either going to follow the Brits Battalion in either APCs or via air transport. The air transports would likely either go directly to the Brits Battalion or to the outpost, situation depending. Rommel was already getting his unit ready to go, and all air assets were being armed and fueled, their crews already moving. Within an hour, the human entire military was going to be coming down on any threat to the outpost.

It was 0951hrs when the command bird got in the airspace over the outpost and began to send information back. What he saw took his breath away. The entire Na'vi army was either in the hills around the outpost or north of it, spread out and fluid, capable of reacting to threats from a variety of directions. He could see the QRF moving in on the Na'vi, and could hear the radio traffic between the command bird and Lieutenant Colonel Mandelson of the 3rd "Brits" Battalion, 1st Infantry Regiment, EEF. But most importantly, he could see the outpost, or what remained of it. "Good God in heaven," he murmured to himself. "How are they still fighting?"

The outpost was overrun, CP a smoking ruin, radio tower leaning at a dangerous angle, and now the remaining humans were in the LZ, fighting for their lives. "Get rockets on the areas surrounding the outpost, don't let anymore bloody Na'vi up that hill!" he snapped. "What's our air look like?"

"In the air and on the move. The AC-150J should be on site within ten minutes. Fast movers should be there in considerably less time."

He watched in real time as the rockets began to fall on the sides of the hill and amongst the Na'vi preparing for the attack that would likely wipe out the remaining EEF and RDA. "Get me into contact with those men!"

"Roger." The command bird acted as the tower now, messages being relayed from the one remaining Samson within the LZ, through the aircraft now circling above the battlefield, and to the main command center.

"This is Staff Sergeant Nakamura, we need some air, and we need it now, we have enemy closing in from all directions! Need fire on coordinates..." the tired voice rang out, and began to rattle off numbers. The attack aircraft and multipurpose fighters closed in on the hill and began to drop ordnance as fast as the exhausted soldier could call out positions. "AC-150 can target enemy positions as it sees fit. Hospital in outpost proper may still be held by humans!" Nakamura reported, and gunfire and heavy explosions could be heard in the background, as well as battle cries and cries of wounded.

"Nakamura, you've done a fine job. This is Treleaven, do you read me?"

A gasped sob. "Sir, yes sir, we can hear you!" The voice was strained, and Treleaven could see him in the high definition camera now trained on the outpost. A figure sitting in the Samson, surrounded by wounded and dead, head cradled in one hand, the other holding the radio handset to his ear. "God, it was close sir. We almost didn't..." a sharp cough, and the soldier straightened on the monitor. "Sir, we have suffered severe casualties, and need help immediately. Even with the air, I don't know if we can keep the Na'vi off of us." There was a steel in the soldier's voice now, and Treleaven wondered what it was like to be Staff Sergeant Nakamura. Exhausted, facing certain death, and then help comes at the last moment. What men and women he commanded, who he had sent to their deaths.

"Sergeant Jones?"

"QRF is experiencing stiff resistance on the approach. They are currently a kilometer from the outpost, and it looks like they won't be able to make it to the outpost itself, not with more men."

Treleaven could see it. The Third Battalion was slowing down as Mandelson took stock of the situation. "Inform Mandelson that he is not to push his men into a situation where we need to rescue him as well as the outpost. The rest of our units will move in to support, and we will rescue the outpost."

"General, we have contact with Warrant Officer Senko," one of the other sergeants at the communications center reported, her brows furrowed in concentration. "He reports that the Na'vi are leaving a holding force around the outpost, but the rest of them are moving towards our incoming soldiers. It looks like the outpost is now a secondary objective."

The cameras aboard the command aircraft showed the same thing. "Nakamura, can you hear me?"

"Yes sir, we can still hear you. We've got a breather for right now."

"Right, listen to me carefully. Have all personnel at the outpost cease firing upon the Na'vi unless the Na'vi are directly trying to assail your position. The AC-150 will maintain orbit over your position, and will provide assistance, but it looks like the Na'vi are moving to engage the relief forces. You should be able to make it now. Don't worry, lad, we're coming to get you and those still alive. We just need some time. Be sure to tell that to your command."

There was a drawn out moment of silence, and he watched as the soldier on the radio waved another soldier over. "Ah, roger, sir, I'll spread the message, but I'm just the forward observer. Do you want to talk to the officer in charge?"

Treleaven blinked in surprise. Given how things looked, he had assumed that SSG Nakamura had been the highest ranking soldier there. "Absolutely. Put him on."

The soldier on the screen handed the handset over to another soldier. "Lieutenant Storch here, sir. You wanted to talk to me?"

There was a hiss of shocked anger, and Treleaven turned to look at Randall, who was clenching his fists. "Yes, I did," Treleaven said slowly, the horrifying realization coming to him. "What's your situation there, Lef-tenant? What's happened since zero-six-hundred?"

"Sir, we first-"

"General, the Third is reporting heavy contact with enemy foot mobiles and mounted cavalry, sir!"

The unit appeared on another screen, watched by a separate camera from the command aircraft. "Oh, bugger," Treleaven muttered to himself. "This is going to be a very long day."

xxxXXXxxx

Lieutenant Colonel Mandelson scanned around him from the open hatch of his command Infantry Fighting Vehicle. He had halted the battalion on top of a minor hillock roughly a kilometer from the hills in the near distance. The Na'vi were busy around him, moving hard to surround his unit. Let them, he thought as he scanned around him with his field glasses. Behind him, towards the main base, he could see the dust clouds raised by the rest of the EEF and RDA soldiers moving in behind him. Maybe...three miles distant by now. He scanned around again. "Major Marwick, it looks like the Na'vi are moving largely to engage the column behind us. Clever bastard has it figured out, doesn't he?"

From an IFV a hundred meters from his, his second in command looked at his questioningly. "Sir?"

"They realize that if they hit us in force, they'll get drawn into a fight that they won't like. They have scouts with radios, and they realize that they can't hit just us, they have to hit all of the EEF at the same time before we can consolidate. Unluckily for them, we've beat them to the punch and are on some nice ground. Have the battalion form a square, with the national and battalion colors at the center. Are the speakers functioning properly?" He was referring to the speakers mounted atop several of the IFVs, all linked to one sound system and loud enough to wake the dead, if need for that arose.

"Yes sir, they are."

"Jolly good, we'll need them for this." Around him, his battalion moved, soldiers quickly digging with spades and mattocks. The plains soil broke apart nicely, and while the Na'vi were still maneuvering around his men, trying to find a decent battle plan, his men and women were settling in quite nicely. "Feel rather sorry for those blokes at the outpost." He glanced to the south, where the EEF AC-150J could be seen circling like a vulture, occasionally firing a round or two from its main gun. "Been a bad four hours for them."

A change in pitch from the howls and war cries around his unit. It was time. "Alright, blokes, let's show these blue buggers what British troops are made of! Prepare for volley fire, at the three round burst, on the ready!" The entire battalion roared a response, rifles and light machine guns snapping to shoulders. "Let's show them what the volley fire can do! First ranks, FIRE!" There was a crackling roar all around him, bullets flying out, cutting through the high grass around them before finding the flesh of the Na'vi cavalry that was charging them. "At regular intervals, FIRE!" Another volley, followed by another, and another, and another, and the Na'vi cavalry faltered, unused to this type of response. "Highlanders, open up, if you would!" The 30mm cannons mounted on the Highlander IFVs opened up with steady thudding blasts, and the GPMGs on the vehicles also opened up, adding more rounds to the volleys that were still ringing out at steady, measured increments. In moments, the Na'vi cavalry had turned and started to retreat, and he quickly gave the order for the mortars and snipers to open fire, heckling at the retreating natives. In less than five minutes, the Na'vi charge had been broken. "Right, I do believe that we've shown them, lads. Major Marwick, I dare say that we won't have long before they come again, are the speakers prepared to play the first song?" His second in command nodded, and he raised his field glasses, scanning the area surrounding him, focusing on the fierce fighting that was at least two miles from him, where the rest of the EEF was suffering the brunt of the Na'vi attack. The next time the Na'vi charged his position, his little hillock, they'd be charging into the sound of fife and drum from the British Grenadiers. They also had several military marches played with bagpipes on record. It would be interesting to see how the Na'vi reacted to hearing bagpipes for the first time...

"You have to admire their speed," he muttered mostly to himself. "They certainly didn't tarry when hitting my reinforcements." Then, louder, into his radio, "Homebase, this is Dragoon Six Actual, I have repelled an enemy cavalry assault upon my position and stand by to withstand further attacks. The enemy are utilizing those bloody direhorses and banshees to rapidly move soldiers around the AO. Recommend that artillery support has a dedicated infantry contingent for security. Na'vi would like nothing more than to kill our artillery. Over."

"Dragoon Six Actual, that's a solid copy, security teams are already in place, over."

"Will inform if my situation changes, Dragoon Six Actual, out." Another hair-raising howl rose from the high grass around his battalion. "Major Marwick, play the music, would you?" Almost instantly, all the speakers began to blast out the heavy rolling drums and the high piercing fifes of the British Grenadiers, and a smile crept unbidden to his face. The Na'vi were about to have a rather terrible day indeed.

xxxXXXxxx

Treleaven watched as Mandelson directed an effective defense for the third time, the Na'vi unable to get close enough to use their weapons effectively. If only it were faring so well elsewhere. Rommel was getting hit by a large amount of rocket wielding banshee and direhorse mounted Na'vi, and though he was hurting the Na'vi greatly, he was suffering losses as well. He was moving, but it was in darting attacks, moving forward, attacking, and then pulling back before attacking again. Colonel Reed and her command were faring little better, with a mixture of dismounted infantry, IFVs, and some Samsons and Scorpions in support. She, at least, was moving towards Mandelson, though be it at a snail's pace. The spread out nature of the fight was not good for his forces, however. Support was hard to coordinate effectively with three different fights taking place, with three different command structures calling for much needed artillery and air support.

He rubbed his jaw in frustration. "Colonel Reed, you need to move and link up with Mandelson. Once you consolidate forces, you can focus on defeating the enemy."

"I understand that, General!" came her terse voice over the radio speakers. "But right now the Na'vi are throwing everything they have at us, and they have a lot to offer! Right now I'm trying to think of a good reason to not stop and dig in...my dismounted infantry are getting cut up right now."

He frowned. She was right. Dismounted infantry would be hurt bad in this sort of fighting, especially since the Na'vi are using their particular skill sets to great advantage. Na'vi hiding in the tall grass, armed with bows and machine guns were cutting up any human that drew close enough to fire at. The Na'vi would die, yes, but the ratio was decidedly against the human forces. Mandelson was faring well because he was stationary. The Na'vi had to come to him. Reed was moving. They could wait for the humans to get close to them and then strike. "Do we have a thermal feed to the land between Reed and Mandelson?"

A monitor came up, with dark background and bright white bodies moving around in the tall grass. There was that one particular clump that seemed to be a command post of some sort. "I want a time on target right in the center of the group! Mandelson, Reed, standby for target coordinates for your mortars."

"Yessir!" came the enthusiastic response from both of them. Time on target was an artillery technique developed during the Second World War, where the air time of a variety of indirect fire weapon systems were computed, from the 60mm mortar all the way up to the 155mm cannon. The weapons would all fire at a specific target, timed properly so that all the shells would land within about ten seconds of one another. It was a severely demoralizing and effective strategy...one made easier with computer fire control systems. He watched as the weapons all fired exactly when they needed to, and then as an area twice the size of an American Football field simply ceased to be.

"Colonel Reed, that's your opening, I suggest you take it." Her forces were already moving, IFVs moving ahead with Scorpions keeping an eye out from above, running rocket and machine gun strafing passes over enemy positions. In twenty minutes, Reed had linked up with Mandelson. "Rommel, pull back, and concentrate on attacking troop and supply concentrations, as directed by the command aircraft." With the artillery and air support requirements now concentrated in a smaller area, what might have been a defeat was now most likely a victory. Now that things were slightly calmer, he could turn to the task at hand. Resting his palm on the butt of his sidearm, he nodded to the communications sergeant. "Raise up Storch again, sergeant."

"Yes sir."

A few moments later, Storch's tired yet still determined voice flooded the room. "Sir, you called for me?"

"Yes, Lef-tenant. I have a question for you that I believe is very important. How exactly did the Na'vi destroy the CP at the outpost?"

There was a terse silence. "The Na'vi managed to slip a team of highly skilled soldiers who impersonated Avatar drivers with extreme skill. They got into the CP and then detonated what I'm guessing was a Na'vi sized assault pack of explosives."

"How did they gain access to the outpost?"

"They knew our passwords in detail, sir."

He drew in a sharp breath. "Indeed. That's all I needed to ask, Lef-tenant. Thank you." The connection died, and Treleaven gave a great, sad sigh. "How did the enemy get the codes, Randall?"

"I think you know by now, old man."

Treleaven nodded. "I suppose the better question is why did the enemy get the codes?"

"She killed my nephew!" Randall hissed, madness easily heard in his voice. The room grew dead silent.

"And he was a serial rapist that you protected. And now you've killed a great many of your fellow RDA soldiers as well as a great many of the EEF. You've truly gone mad, Randall. I'd always hoped that you'd come back from the brink."

Randall smirked. "You don't get it, do you? I don't care anymore. The moment that your precious EEF left the base, my loyal men have been securing this rat trap. Things will be different for the Na'vi when some rockets fall right onto your EEF formations. And once your scum get wiped out, I'm going to nuke any concentration of Na'vi. I'll be the hero of Pandora, and you'll have nothing!" As though to punctuate his words, the door burst open, and a squad of RDA personnel flooded into the room. "Everyone step away from the consoles, now!"

The soldiers manning the consoles hesitated, and Treleaven knew that he had to do something. "You heard the man, ladies and gentleman," he said with a defeated sigh even as he discretely slipped his free hand into his pocket, taking hold of the small remote and pressing the button on it. He had hoped that he would never have to use the device when he made it, but the dead man's switch was likely going to save a lot of lives. He thought briefly about who the email was going to be sent to...all the field officers, Harrison, Captain Burns, and Lieutenant Storch. They'd be able to take care of Randall.

"All points secure, sir. We've got the SAM and the MLRS batteries under our control after minor resistance. The airport is also under our control."

Treleaven blinked, and then cursed softly to himself. "There's only one problem with that plan, Randall. I'm the only one who knows the launch codes, and you can be damn certain that I don't have it written down anywhere. Without me, you don't have the nukes."

Randall shrugged. "How much will it take to torture it out of you? I figure that you'll be hard enough to break if we only have you, but what about your aides?" His dark eyes narrowed dangerously. "Speaking of, where did you send those two? I thought it was a clever use of sign-countersign, myself. I almost didn't catch it, but their reactions tipped me off. You may think that they are safe, but we'll find them eventually. And if we can't find them, we'll just start with the soldiers in this room."

Treleaven couldn't help it. He laughed. It was a hollow, saddened laugh, but it was a laugh nonetheless. "A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!" he recited to himself softly.

"What was that?" Randall snapped.

"Oh, sorry, bit of Shakespeare, there. Richard the Third. King goes absolutely crazy, and is about to be overthrown by a relative. Gets trapped, and cries out for a horse, but doesn't get one. Those nukes are your horse, Dickie old boy."

"Didn't you hear me? I said I'll kill the people here if you don't cooperate!"

"And I'd be a piss poor general if I gave in to the demands of a terrorist because of a few lives of soldiers. I'd like to apologize for what I must do, but I'm sure that none of you would mind dying to save countless lives."

"Fuck Randall!" one of the sergeants snarled, and one of the soldiers under Randall's command shot the man in the head.

Treleaven winced at the loudness of the report and the sudden of the violence. "I dare say, you've made me see your way, Randall," he said quietly, and Randall grinned victoriously. "Violence is the only answer." It was then that Randall noticed that Treleaven's hand rested casually on his sidearm, and his eyes widened in realization. "I'll see you in hell, old boy!"

"No, don't kill hi-!"

He drew, centering the sights on Randall's chest. As he had expected, Randall's men reacted swiftly and decisively. Before he could tighten his finger on the trigger, all the mercenaries in the room opened fire, and Treleaven died with a grin on his face.


	23. The Shot Heard 'Round the Moon

**AN: I know that I wanted to update this two days ago, on Friday, but not only did I have weekend drill on Friday and Saturday, but my family is going through a difficult time at the moment. On Thursday the 19th, my maternal grandfather passed away. He was a retired Lt. Col. of the Army Green Berets, and was a remarkable man, and he will be missed. He was definitely a factor that influenced me to not only joing the Army but also to become an officer. He served in both Korea and in Vietnam, and spent the last handful of decades repairing antiques and working a small garden with my grandmother.**

**So. I'm sure you've all had someone close pass away, so you can understand why I'm a few days late. Unfortunately, I don't know how regular I'll be able to keep the update schedule. I'm in the latter half of my MSIII year in ROTC, so that's going to keep me very busy. I'm also in an EMT-B class, and that's going to soak up a lot of my time. I only have about three thousand words of the next chapter done, and I'll try and get that done on time, but I'm not making any promises.**

**This chapter reveals good things, and hopefully it is up to your expectations. Read, enjoy, and please review!**

THE SHOT HEARD 'ROUND THE MOON

It was only luck that found Harrison at the computer when the mail icon popped up on the display. Frowning, he selected it. Who would be sending him an email? The EEF would get on the radio, Trudy would just find him or call him on the phone if she was talking to him, and no one else really talked to him. His frown deepened when he noticed that it was from Treleaven. Why was General Treleaven sending him an ema-

His heart stopped. It fluctuated unpleasantly for a second...two...three...and then resumed beating. The next moment he was hurtling out the door of his quarters, sprinting towards Trudy's room. He pounded frantically on the door, hoping she was still in her room instead of somewhere on the base. God was with him, as she opened up the door, an irritated scowl on her face that only deepened when she saw who it was. He didn't give a damn. Before she could say anything, he was talking fast. "Treleaven is dead and the human main base is under the control of the leader of the RDA." At her blank, shocked stare, he explained further. "Randall is more insane than Quaritch ever was, and he might have access to nuclear weapons. We need to stop him."

"But we're just messengers, neutral third parties," she said, shooting his own words back at him. He shook his head, pissed at her bullheadedness.

"This isn't a matter of honorable war between two consenting parties, Trudy. Randall will kill everyone on Pandora, including _our daughter_!" he hissed. She blinked at that, her head turning to look back into her room, where Hannah was singing softly to herself as she played something both silly and educational on Trudy's computer. "Right now, we need to figure out how to convince the Na'vi and the humans to fight together. This here, right now, is the end of the war. The Na'vi and the EEF now have a common enemy: insanity. We need to act, now!" She hesitated for a moment, before biting her lip and nodding. "Good. And this...we aren't going to be messengers, Trudy. Once more we both go to war." She didn't say anything, but he could see the bleak acceptance in her eyes. They had both come so close to dying during the last one. Would they survive this one? He didn't want to know the answer, not yet. The future might hold too much pain.

He brushed past Trudy and into her room, and she didn't try to stop him. She knew what he was doing. "Hannah?" he asked softly as he knelt down behind her chair, and his daughter, _his daughter_ turned around, smiling happily at the sight of him, her eyes bright with excitement. How dare Randall threaten her safety? "Your mom and I have to go and do something very important," he murmured softly. "Uncle Norm will take care of you until we come back, alright?"

"Okay!" she chirruped happily before enveloping him in a hug, pure-hearted love for him obvious in the gesture, and his throat tightened painfully. He hugged her back, relishing in her warmth, the softness of her long hair, her little girl smell. She was his baby girl, and he had to leave her. Damn Randall! "I love you, daddy!" she said in a sing-song voice, and he squeezed his eyes shut, a tear rolling down his cheek.

"Love you, too, darling girl," he whispered back, holding her for just a moment longer, taking all the comfort from her that he could. He hoped that he would come back to her. But there was the chance that he wouldn't, and that thought broke his heart. "Be strong until I come back, Hannah."

"I will, daddy," she chirped before leaning back and smiling beamingly at him. "I miss you already!"

He smiled back at her and poked her nose. "I miss you, too," he laughed, fighting hard to keep the sadness out of his voice. "See you soon." She scampered out of his arms, and he stood, biting his lip to keep from crying even more. Never before had he had to say goodbye to his girl knowing that he might not come back. He turned and walked out of the room, not meeting Trudy's eyes as she walked in to say her own goodbyes. The moment he was out of the room he was running again, partially to outrun the ache in his heart, and partially because he needed to act fast. The Na'vi and the humans were likely still fighting, and any life lost now was a life that couldn't be turned against Randall. It seemed like an eternity later that he burst into the command center of Hell's Gate, getting the attention of everyone in the room.

"Hey, Harrison, did you know that there's a big fight going on? We've been listening to the radio chatter for a while now, and-" Max said, concern on his dark face, but Harrison interrupted him. Seemed to be doing that a lot, lately.

"Get every person on this base with military experience into the cafeteria and every person with piloting experience into the hangars to start preflight checks, right now. We've got a battle to fight..."

xxxXXXxxx

Colonel Reed read the message, agony twisting her features. She hadn't expected her datapad to chime in the middle of the battle, just as she hadn't expected to get an email from General Treleaven. However, to know that he was dead...Randall was going to pay. Her radio crackled, and the sharply accented German voice of Rommel came over the speakers. "Colonel Reed, did you get the message?"

"Yes," she answered simply, not trusting herself to say anything more.

"I stand by for orders."

Randall was in charge of Heaven's Pass. He was an outlaw, and he knew it. He was going to hit them now, with MLRS artillery. They needed to maneuver. "Disengage from the Na'vi and fall back to the artillery pieces and the RDA elements guarding them, and move them to a random location."

"Roger."

She switched channels to the command bird. "Sky Eye, this is Basilisk Six Actual, I have just received word that General Treleaven has been assassinated by Randall. Inform all participants that Heaven's Pass is no longer secure. Have all aircraft cease military operations and save what munitions they have left and fly holding patterns to save fuel. Over."

"Roger, Basilisk Six. Passing on message. Over."

"Solid copy, out."

With a heavy sigh, she looked out over the plains where smoke wafted up all around her dug in position from where artillery had crashed into the earth and from where napalm had scorched the grassy ground. The Na'vi had stopped attacking not too long ago, and had done as she had done, and dug in deep. Clever of them, especially since they were between her and Heaven's Pass. The Na'vi had plenty enough rockets and machine guns to make extraction from the field of battle a major hassle. She snorted. Who was she kidding? With the Brits Battalion, she might very well have been able to fight through the encircling Na'vi, especially with the aid of Rommel and his tanks and Sarkov and his jets, but it would have been incredibly bloody. Especially since they were outnumbered ten-to-one, and there were still those poor bastards still stuck up on Scheißberg Hill.

She glanced at the interactive map in the interior of her command vehicle, updated constantly from Sky Eye. There she was, with all of her infantry and Mandelson's, dug in to defensive positions, vehicles with hasty dirt berms thrown up around them, hoping that the Na'vi would continue to throw themselves at them, so that they could continue slaughtering them. Easiest way to win a war was to break the will of the enemy, and having the enemy throw wave after wave of soldiers at them to no avail was an effective method. Spartans did it at Thermopylae, they could do it here. Unfortunately, Sully wasn't stupid, or burdened with pride. He was motivated by the safety of his troops and the continuation of the Na'vi. And so he had moved his soldiers to a perimeter around hers about five hundred yards distant, and had them begin to dig in even as more Na'vi kept moving in to reinforce those positions. The more time that she waited, the stronger their positions got. If it wasn't for Randall, she would have had quite the battle ahead of her. But now she had to do the unthinkable.

At the very beginning of the war, Sully had been given a radio that was preset to a single radio channel that all field officers had memorized. Though she had never expected to use it, it was for just such situations that the radio had been given to him for. Units cut off with no hope of escape had been briefed to contact Sully and present terms of surrender. Though, in this case, she wasn't surrendering, but instead offering a chance to unify the Na'vi and the humans to wipe out Randall and his insanity once and for all. Possibly even end the war...as she picked up the handset and switched the radio to the proper frequency, she hoped that Sully was willing to listen to reason. However, she was not aware of what happened mere moments prior to her decision...

xxxXXXxxx

Grigori Senko watched as the AC-150J fired off a few more rounds at the Na'vi still around the hill before peeling away and flying towards where more fighting could be heard. Strange, all the other far distant fighter aircraft and attack aircraft were also leaving the airspace directly over the battle. "Is our extraction coming still?" he asked, and Heffelfinger nodded.

"Just waiting on our signal," the Swiss man reported, as he set down the radio handset. Whatever the reason the aircraft were leaving, it didn't matter. Now the Na'vi were tentatively coming out of their cover, including...

He started breathing long and slow as he scoped out where he had last seen messengers running to. Na'vi probably thought that their special forces type unit still held this hill, though it was sloppy of them not to have sent a team up to link up with them or try to get them on the radio, but then, Sully was likely incredibly busy, without a proper command structure. The EEF and the RDA were purely military, and each man was only responsible for a handful of men, from the lowest team leader to the highest field officer. For example, a company commander was in charge of more than a hundred men, but the number of soldiers who actually reported to him was limited to his platoon commanders and his support personnel, such as the forward observer and his RTO. Jake Sully didn't have that. He was in charge of thousands, and was likely being bombarded with information from all throughout his army. Not only did that distract him, but that also meant that there was a steady flow of personnel going to and from his position. This was fine if there weren't any snipers in his backfield. But there were. His high powered scope zeroed on the hole that the last messenger had come out from before mounting a direhorse and riding towards the battle. Without the ever-present AC-150 overhead...

A pair of Na'vi came out of the well-prepared fighting position. Sully was lucky, Senko mused to himself as he checked the facial features of the individual over a thousand yards away. If the support aircraft hadn't been preoccupied with keeping Na'vi from going up that hill, they likely would have noticed that runners kept going to that same spot. And even a well-prepared fighting position wasn't going to resist the 105mm cannon on that bird. But now his luck ran out. "Target confirmed, five fingers on his hands, facial features a positive match," he murmured to Heffel, still in Russian for the sake of his Na'vi captives. One spoke German, and had an impressive vocabulary of insults, but he didn't think that any of them could speak Russian. "Do you have him on scope?" As the spotter, Heffelfinger had a powerful tripod mounted spotting scope that had higher magnification than Senko's rifle did, which was saying something. Even at the highest magnification, Senko could only just barely make out the distinguishing features of his target. He was guessing that the female next to him was Ney'tiri, another HVT, but he couldn't see her well enough. Maybe Heffel could...

"That is a positive ID, and the female next to him is confirmed Ney'tiri."

"Preparing to take the shot," he breathed softly as he searched for the inner stillness that he would need for this shot while he found a firm bone weld on the rifle. Round in the chamber was the APFSDS, and the next one in the magazine was the explosive round. Still a range of 1,435 meters was not something to shake a stick at, especially with stiff winds coming off of the plains and funneled through these hills. And shooting downhill always played with the ballistics. A moment of doubt seized him...should he take this shot?

...Yes. He had to. They had received the green light for this target when they had been parachuted into enemy territory, and Sully was the binding force of the Na'vi army. Take him out, and then defeat the Na'vi piecemeal. They had never had eyes on him until now, however. "Take the shot when ready," Heffel murmured back.

Adjust for distance and wind...breathe all the way in and then halfway out...pause, see how your heart is beating in the reticle...caress the trigger softly...

The shot surprised him as it should, and he knew that it would hit Sully. However, as the deafening roar of the shot echoed away and down the hill, Heffel cursed from his position, eye glued to his spotting scope. "Target hit, lower back...non-lethal, he's still moving. Ney'tiri is moving to help him." By now he had eyes on the target again, and he cursed to himself.

"Reengaging," he reported as he fired again, and he scowled as he realized that he had fired slightly too fast, had pulled the shot.

Heffel cursed ugly, using the best swear words that Russian had to offer. "Target hit, high upper torso, looks like the round detonated against her shoulder bone. Still moving...targets are now out of sight, in their fighting position...medics moving in. I think we blew it."

"They aren't dead, but they can't fight a war right now. Call in our extraction." Heffel did so, and just as the Na'vi figured out where the shots had come from and began to mount a very pissed off and swift response, their Samson came roaring in from the opposite direction of the battle, flanked by two Scorpions bristling with automatic cannons, rocket pods, and missile racks. "Alright, gentlemen and lady, you're coming with us!" he shouted over the sound of the rotors, bodily heaving up the Na'vi warriors and throwing them into the waiting bay of the Samson. He and Heffel jumped aboard, and then they were off, flying a broad orbit around the Na'vi army, heading towards the artillery position where shocking news awaited them.

xxxXXXxxx

Jake Sully realized that for the second time in his life, he couldn't feel his legs through the shock and the pain of being wounded. His concern, however, was more for Ney'tiri than himself. Pulling himself up to see his love, his mate, his Ney'tiri, he was horrified by the amount of blood that was pouring from her wound. Na'vi were tough, but that wound was a gaping hole of shattered bone and torn flesh, and her left arm dangled by mere strips of skin and ragged muscle. If she managed to survive, she'd lose her arm for certain. His medics were working hard, but they didn't have the skill necessary to really see to her needs. She needed surgery to survive, and the only people who could perform surgery were currently butchering his army.

Just after he finished that bitter thought, the Na'vi who he had appointed as an RTO looked up in shock. "Jakesully, the Olo'eyktan of the human army wishes to speak to you!" she reported, shock coloring her voice.

"Who, Treleaven?" he gritted through a fresh wave of pain. He probably needed surgery too, but his wound wasn't as severe as Ney'tiri's wound was. No, if anything, his wound was ironically perfect for him. He gave up his humanity for a pair of legs and a new beginning, and now humanity took those legs away from him again.

"No, they say that they are Reed, and that she desperately needs to speak with you," Arn'tiro said, holding the handset over to him. He took it, trying to focus through the pain that was radiating through his lower abdomen.

"This is Sully," he ground out. "You need to get better snipers!"

There was a moment of silence on the other end. "I'm sorry?" came Colonel Reed's voice.

"Yeah, they just took a couple of potshots at me and Ney'tiri, and screwed up both shots. What the hell do you want?"

"Treleaven is dead. Randall, the RDA major left in charge after you beat Quaritch, has gone insane and taken control of the human base."

"Allow me a moment to summon my tears," he snapped, not wanting to deal with the political intrigue while Ney'tiri was slowly dying in front of his very eyes.

"He might have access to the nukes, Sully."

That stopped him cold. Treleaven would not have used the nukes except as a last resort, and probably not even then. This Randall was crazy, and probably would use the nukes given the chance. "Go on..."

"Sully, this damn war has gone on long enough, and has cost too much for both sides. We need your help, Marine, help for both our peoples."

He thought that over briefly. An end to the war? That he would take. But without the other Olo'eyktan there to talk it over, could he make a decision right now? Yes. He needed to act. "I have terms."

"Name them."

He hesitated. "Both Ney'tiri and I were wounded badly, and we need surgery. Especially her. Without it, she's going to die, Reed. You also can't mine the old Omaticaya home tree and will need clearance from Na'vi before mining anywhere else."

A brief pause on her end of the line. "We can do the first two, but the latter will need further deliberation while we're not busy trying to kill each other and avoiding nuclear winter."

"Also, humans are not allowed to settle in the jungles, save for Hell's Gate, and will only be able to form new cities in the plains and coastal areas not settled by Na'vi. The formal terms for ending the conflict will also be delegated after this Randall mess is cleaned up," he ordered as his mind began to get fuzzy. Blood loss was starting to get to him.

"Agreed, we can send a medevac team to retrieve the two of you immediately. What markings are we looking for?"

"Ahhh, white cloth, about three yards square, lying on the ground. I'll give the order to cease fire." He paused, pain almost blinding now. "And Reed? Hurry up."

xxxXXXxxx

Storch drank from her hydration bladder numbly. At least now her tongue didn't feel so wooden, her throat no longer sticky. "How's he doing, doc?" Sergeant...Peter Conklin, that was his name. Medic for second platoon. Sergeant Vanderbuilt had died sometime early in the fighting, and Storch realized that she was going to miss Elise and her no-nonsense attitude about all things medical. The company medical officer was still in the hospital, hopefully still alive. And now, Sergeant Conklin was bent over Tan's frighteningly still body. Several IV lines were inserted into his arms, pumping blood and saline into him...blood and saline that they were almost completely out of. At least the sound of gunfire had stopped in the distance, but she didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing yet.

"Lucky I got to him when I did, ma'am," the medic answered dutifully. "The two rounds in his chest were slowed down by his gear and his armor a lot, and one of them didn't even penetrate skin. The other bullet was stopped by his ribs, and is now lodged between two of them...broke them, but it didn't rupture any vital organs, so far as I can tell. His neck...managed to clamp off his left carotid artery in time to stop him from bleeding to death, but his trachea was torn and he might have suffered spinal damage. I intubated him, but he needs better medical care. Might be crippled for the rest of his life, and who knows how long that will be? He was hit pretty hard, ma'am."

She nodded wearily, too numb to work up more outrage. No, she was just relieved that Tan wasn't dead. Not when so many others were...she glanced at the list that she had managed to get together. Third platoon...sixteen dead, and two severely wounded, including Tan. Only one soldier wasn't wounded at all. Twenty soldiers either dead or out of action throughout the entire war. Half the platoon...she coughed weakly in lieu of crying. Tanja appeared at her side, sporting a couple of bandages. Thank God that she wasn't dead, though. She would have lost it if she had lost Tanja, too. Now that her people were seen to at the best of her severely limited capability, she could investigate why the Na'vi had stopped fighting. Correction...why was a Samson flying slow, dumb, and happy down the valley, right over Na'vi heads? And why weren't they shooting?

"Hey, Sky People!" came the shout from the outpost. "Fighting is over!" There was a brief commotion out of sight. "'If you have wounded, you may bring them over to the hospital so that they may receive care,'" the speaker called out, evidently reading from a pre-written note, judging by the cadence of his voice. Another brief commotion. "All your wounded here are safe, honored fighter. Be at peace!"

"Lieutenant Storch!" came the softer voice of a human...one that she knew. Second Lieutenant Maria Eduardez. Outpost surgeon. "We're all fine over here, send the wounded over...I think that the fighting is seriously over."

"Ma'am, message on the radio," Nakamura reported from within the Samson. "Cease fire with all Na'vi forces. Treleaven has been killed by Randall. Randall holds Heaven's Pass. There's going to be an assault on the base."

There were cries of alarm as she collapsed, her legs no longer able to hold her weight. After all that had gone on, this latest news was literally too much to bear. "Treleaven...Treleaven is dead?" she whispered. The numb veil that had encompassed her world since the Na'vi had stopped trying to take their position was blown away in an instant. Everything grew crystal clear as her strength came back. She stood, ignoring the concerned few who were able to move over to her, to see if she was alright. "I need eight volunteers. We're going to go join up with the main force. We need to be there for the battle. We can't let Treleaven down." Shocked silence from the soldiers now coming in off their small perimeter, but then Staff Sergeant Service, her 3rd Squad Leader, stepped forward, a determined look on his face. He was soon joined by others of 3rd Platoon, who beat the other platoons to the punch.

Lieutenant Sorenson stepped forward. "I'll take charge here, ma'am. I know how much Treleaven meant to you."

Storch nodded. "Get the wounded to the hospital, and I'll get command to send over more supplies and personnel."

The eight volunteers from 3rd Platoon formed up on her, Staff Sergeant Service leading them. Tanja briefly squeezed her shoulder before seeing to the remains of her combat engineer platoon, and Storch took a deep breath before jogging over to where Tan was being settled into a stretcher so he could be moved to the hospital. The litter bearers noticed her, and paused, giving her the time she needed. He was stable, for now, they could give her a minute. "Sergeant...I'm sorry," she murmured to his too still body. "I've got to go do something really stupid that you'd probably bitch me out for. But once it's done, the fighting should be over, and you shouldn't worry about me anymore." She reached down, grasped his hand, squeezed it gently. "See you later, sergeant...that's a promise." She carefully placed his hand back on the stretcher before jogging back to the Samson that was still waiting for her. Once everyone was strapped in, the pilot lifted off before heading north, towards where the fiercest of the fighting had been heard earlier. Suddenly exhausted and knowing that she wouldn't have much time for sleep very soon, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

xxxXXXxxx

Staff Sergeant Joseph Service, called Joe by his civilian friends and family and Secret Service by his fellow soldiers, watched as Lieutenant Storch lay her head back against the side of the Samson, probably to catch a little shut eye. He continued to watch her as the other soldiers joked around, sat silently, or also tried to get a little sleep. Sergeant Snyder, alpha team leader from first squad, with Specialist 'Lazy' Lizyness, Specialist Oltara, Private First Class Claire, and Private First Class Hartmann, all from first squad. Of course, he had three soldiers from his own squad with him; Specialist Poindexter (poor bastard didn't need a nickname with a last name like _that_), Private First Class Vasquez, and Private 'Q-Ball' Washington. A team leader, two riflemen, two grenadiers, and three automatic riflemen. Not including him as a squad leader and Storch as a platoon and company leader.

Lieutenant-fucking-Storch. He remembered when he had first met her, when 3rd Platoon got together for the first time. She had seemed so small, so young, so _inexperienced_. Of course, he was a career soldier well into his third four-year term of service, and was a tall, bulky six-foot-three man with dark brown hair and eyes. What was she, five-six? Also looked young enough to just be out of high school. So he had had some initial misgivings, but she had proven to be extremely capable. She led the platoon to the coveted position of the best platoon in the battalion. No small feat for anyone, much less a young woman from the northern mid-west. A good leader in training. During those years on Earth he only had misgivings about her ability in combat. Plenty of officers looked good on paper and in training and then fell apart once the bullets began flying. His older brother had even served under some of them during the last war. High-and-mighty fools who shit their pants once they were threatened with real bodily harm.

She had nearly proven him right during the Battle of the Plain. He had sensed it when she had hesitated. Sensed when she realized that it wasn't all just a game. But then she had surprised him...repeatedly, in fact. She didn't shy from danger once, placing them effectively in order to counter the Na'vi attacks. She had been wounded personally while carrying an RDA officer back from the crashed Samson that no one would have ordered her to go and investigate but that she had decided to check out because there might have been survivors. Another point in her favor was that she didn't tell someone else to do it, she did it herself. Reckless, yes, but certainly brave. And where other officers had lost many people during that battle, she only lost two, though one of them, Private First Class Yonatan Solanas, had been a member of his squad. He couldn't blame her for that...battle was like that, and if the Ell-tee didn't do what she had done, they would have lost a lot more soldiers. Didn't mean that he didn't miss the kid...Solanas had been a good rifleman, one of the better shots in the company, though not good enough to get a sniper rifle. From Spain, too, and man, the kid had some of the best curses he had ever heard. He was going to be missed...

Then there was that matter with what's-his-name...Andrewson? Anderson? He wasn't quite sure what to make of that. Sleazeball deserved death, no doubt. Men were supposed to use their strength to protect people, not hurt them, especially not to rape them. And Sergeant Tan said that the little shit had done it before, and was going to do it again. But torturing him to death? Was that the right answer? Honestly, he would have had someone shoot the bastard and claim self-defense, but torture meant pre-meditated, and that meant a big no-no. Plus, if Storch hadn't tortured the man to death, they might not have ended up at the outpost, and he might not have lost three of his soldiers. He sighed heavily at that. He couldn't be prouder of his soldiers than he was...hell, the entire company did extremely well given the circumstances, but still...he glanced back at Storch.

Her uniform was just as dirty as everyone else's. Through that dirt, he could see the damp patches where sweat of fear and exertion had soaked through, as well as where blood had been shed. A bandage was on her arm, and there were plenty of tears and holes in her uniform where things had penetrated both cloth and flesh. She was hurt worse than he was. Reckless of her, as an officer. If she went down, who would lead them? Then the thought occurred to him. With all that she had been through...being raped, leading the Na'vi who killed their CO and First Sergeant into the outpost, losing so many men, including her platoon sergeant, who was hanging on to life by a mere thread...did she want to die? Somewhere during these six plus months on Pandora, she had turned from a bright-eyed young platoon leader to a dull-eyed and jaded woman. He had heard of such people taking risks, doing stupid things intentionally. You read the reports for Medal of Honor winners, and they were largely motivated by protecting their buddies, but a lot of them...you sometimes wondered if they went into those situations expected to die. Audie Murphy certainly sprang to mind. Storch knew that she was responsible for a _lot_ of deaths...was she hoping to catch a round?

She had earned his tentative respect on Earth, his grudging admiration during the Battle of the Plains, and now he was concerned for her, something he didn't quite expect. Lieutenants had terribly high mortality rates during combat...hell, Delta Company was down three officers, though one of them was Captain Burns. He frowned sadly at that. Burns was a great man, and would be sorely missed. With him guiding Storch, she probably would have replaced him as company commander naturally when he got promoted to Battalion XO...but now that had been taken away. And Storch would blame herself for that, probably would for the rest of her life.

...Damn, but she looked so frail, so _broken_. Huddled up, arms hugging herself, as though trying to hold herself together. He had heard the broken tone in her voice towards the end, and even after she got fire back in her voice when she asked for volunteers, that too had sounded almost hopeless. He couldn't see her face because of her exopack, but he could imagine the worn-down and weary look that his brother had worn when he came back after being medically discharged after being severely wounded. Lieutenant Storch was hurting bad, and it was a hurt that was going to be hard to heal. Well, it was his job as the senior NCO of this little party to make sure that the officer didn't do anything stupid and fatal. He just hoped that she wouldn't make that job _too_ difficult.

"Approaching the LZ," the pilot reported, and Service looked out the open bay door of the Samson. What he saw surprised him. Intermingled with the human lines were hundreds...maybe thousands of Na'vi warriors. What was more, they were being issued human weapons...not many, which wasn't surprising. Na'vi fingers didn't fit in many human weapon trigger wells. But those that did have firearms already were getting ammo, and Na'vi could use human grenades quite effectively. He wasn't quite sure what he felt about that...less than an hour ago, these same people were trying to kill him and his colleagues. Now they were getting human weapons like nothing had happened, like there had never been a war. Well, it was his job to follow orders, and he had no doubt that Randall would kill everyone that he could. Plus, what better way to end hostilities between their two peoples? On Earth, in ancient cultures, the term would have been, what, shield-brothers? Here it might be hunt-brothers, or bow-brothers...he searched his memory, trying to think of any such term that he might have heard in all those culture classes, but he came up with nothing. But still, the RDA had never given them guns. Equals gave each other weapons, men and Na'vi heading towards one fight.

It was possible that they would go back to fighting each other once Randall was taken care of, but his soldier's senses told him that the war was all but over. Once they shed blood together for a common cause, what reason would they have to fight? "Why haven't we landed yet?" he asked, shouting over the noise of the rotors.

"Gotta wait for clearance, there's a lot of air traffic coming in." At those words, he looked up and out, and was shocked to see dozens of Samsons flying in from the direction of the jungle, most the dull gray of the RDA, but they were led by one that was gleaming white, that he had seen before at the Battle of the Plains. Looked like the individuals from Hell's Gate were even joining in on the party. _Randall, you stupid bastard, what were you thinking_?_ You're ending the war that you wanted to keep going forever._ He grinned wolfishly. _Well, at least you've given us a worthy target. We're coming for you, old man. Better start saying your prayers, because once Storch gets her hands on you, you'll wish you were dead_!


	24. Ritt der Walküren

**AN: Woot, finally got this updated! A lot happens in this chapter, and most notably, I only have one or two chapters left to go before this story is complete. Unfortunately, I haven't started the next chapter at all, and I'm not entirely certain how it's going to play out. I'll have to play it by ear. Anyway, glad that I got this up before two weeks passed, and hopefully you enjoy it. Cyber cookies for anyone who can tell me what the title means, preferably without being cheater-mccheaterpants. It is, as always, related to the contents of this chapter. There's your one and only clue. Read, enjoy, and please REVIEW!**

RITT DER WALKÜREN

When Storch was jostled awake by the Samson touching down, she certainly hadn't expected to look out on the field and see crowds of Na'vi milling about. She'd just about had a coronary then, hand flying towards her rifle as she jerked awake. When she also noticed the EEF uniformed soldiers amongst the Na'vi, she calmed down, swallowing thickly. Ugh. It was always terrible when you jerked awake, no pause from sleeping to full-alert, ready to fight anything that needed fighting. She shook her head lightly, hopping out of the Samson, followed closely by her soldiers. They needed to get in contact with whatever command element that was here. It was moments later that her skin began to crawl, as she and her soldiers made their way across the field crawling with soldiers and Na'vi. A couple of steps later revealed to her the source of the unsettled sensation: all the Na'vi were watching the nine of them, a handful of them whispering to each other. Their expressions varied, from fear and loathing to awe and grudging respect. The first two she could understand, but the last two? And then she heard the whispers...hushed whispers about the Black Masks, the death givers. She snorted as all the Na'vi moved out of their way, clearing a definite path in front of them. Looking at her men with more respect than her fellow EEF and the RDA. They were looking at them with pity. They didn't need pity! They had needed air support and reinforcements! Yeah, they couldn't make it to them, and she wouldn't blame these soldiers for that, but there was no need for the pity and sympathy that the soldiers shot their way.

"Ma'am, it looks like there's some pressurized tents over that way, maybe a CP and a field hospital," Service pointed out, and she nodded before briskly leading the way. The scene that met her there was just as surprising as the way that the Na'vi had been behaving. There were scores of wounded Na'vi crowded around the front of the field hospital tent, and most of them were being seen to or had been seen by human surgeons. Currently two Na'vi that she had seen personally before were on operating tables, the female of the two under anesthesia, an amputated arm lying on the ground underneath the table. Ney'tiri had lost an arm...and Jake Sully was talking with Reed and Rommel, his face a mask of pain as two surgeons worked on an open wound in his stomach. He had evidently refused anesthesia in order to talk with the human commanders, and her stomach twinged uncomfortably at the thought of how much pain he must be in.

There were others around them...A handful of senior Samson and Scorpion pilots, Harrison and Chacon, standing together around the map table that had been brought close enough to Sully for him to see it, some of the Olo'eyktan, and then a group of what looked like Avatars, but when she checked their hands, only two of the six standing around the table had five fingers. The rest were of the same group who had-!

The next thing she knew, there were multiple hands grabbed onto the back of her armor and her shoulders, one hand clenched around her right wrist, stopping her from drawing her pistol out of the holster. A funny ringing sound was all that she could hear, blocking out the meaning of the words being hissed at her...odd how the ringing sound was funny when all she felt was a boiling rage that was coursing through her body like an inferno, demanding that she kill the Na'vi before her for what they did to her. But slowly the red veil over the world peeled back, and the ringing dissipated, allowing her to hear the desperate entreaties by her soldiers who were holding her back.

"Ma'am, they are our allies now, we can't do this!" "Lieutenant Storch, killing them won't bring anyone back!" "Ell-tee, _what they did is no worse than what we've done to them_!" And then the one that truly reined her back from the cusp of murderous insanity: "If you do this, you are no better than Randall." The last was delivered in a steady voice no less devastating in the calm was that it was said. Thank God for NCOs like Service. She let out a huge, shuddering breath, feeling her mindless anger leave her in a weakening rush.

"You're right," she murmured. "I'm okay now, I can be let go of." To prove her point, she unwrapped her fingers from the grip of her pistol, shocked at the tingling that flooded her digits, sign of just how tightly she had been gripping the weapon. Slowly, hesitatingly, they let go of her. She took another deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to do, what her duty was. But she could no more shirk this than she could avoid breathing. Striding forward at a confident pace that belied how she truly felt, she came to a halt just outside of the small group, snapping to attention and popping off a smart salute. "Ma'am! Lieutenant Storch, reporting for duty."

Colonel Reed looked up, the surprise on her face clearly visible through her exopack. Still, she straightened and returned the salute. "Lieutenant, I wasn't expecting you. What's the situation at Scheißberg Hill?"

"Ma'am, the situation has stabilized now that this battle is over. However, medical help is needed for the soldiers there, as well as..." she paused, jaw muscles working as she swallowed. "...As well as a coroner. There are...a great deal of bodies that have to be catalogued, ma'am."

The older officer stared at her for a moment, and Storch was glad to see not pity but a sad understanding in her eyes. She knew what it was like to lose those under her command. "Right. I'll assemble some medical supplies and personnel, as well as a priest and a coroner, and you can bring them back to the outpost." She then turned back to Rommel, a clear dismissal as she began to speak about the upcoming invasion of Heaven's Pass.

Not acceptable. "Ma'am, I can't do that."

Reed's attention snapped back to her, but before she could speak, a loud moaning scream roared over them, and Storch flinched as several rockets screamed down to the earth a kilometer to the north, the firecracker-quick pops and snaps of the submunitions coming a moment later. "Thank God he doesn't have eyes on right now," Reed muttered as she glanced towards where the rocket artillery had fallen. Shaking her head slightly, she brought her attention back to Storch. "Lieutenant, you are no doubt physically and emotionally fatigued...I've seen what the outpost looks like, what you must have lost to hold it, and I am doing you a favor by not including you with this final attack."

Anger flared again, but Storch battered it down with an iron will. In Reed's place, she'd do the same thing. "I understand that, ma'am, and for that, I'm grateful. I really am...but considering everything that Treleaven ever did for me, I would be insulting his multiple sacrifices if I wasn't there...if I didn't _do_ anything."

Again, Reed regarded her with steady, emotionless eyes, and Storch noticed the rest of the command table staring at her, probably wondering who this upstart lieutenant was who was talking back to the highest ranking officer on Pandora. She refused to turn her head to regard them, instead staring into Reed's eyes, though she knew that Reed couldn't see her eyes through her tinted visor. Finally, Reed nodded, and Storch was relieved to see the respect and compassion in Reed's eyes. "Your squad will be transported by Trudy Chacon's Samson, and you'll have Harrison as an add-on to your unit." Reed shifted her gaze to the soldiers standing behind her. "If any of you wish to return to the outpost, now is the time to say so. This is an all-volunteer mission." None of them said anything, nor did any of them move. "Very good. Lieutenant Rockwell, have one of your men show Lieutenant Storch's men where the special operations teams are staging from, as well as where they can get ammo and supplies."

One of the Na'vi dressed like a special operations avatar nodded, and pointed to one of his fellow Na'vi. The selected Na'vi nodded before stepping away from the table, her face grave as she began to escort Storch's men towards the staging area. Storch stared after them for a few moments, and it must have been something about her body language that gave her thoughts about the matter away, because Reed spoke, her voice hard and cold. "Lieutenant, the Na'vi are now our allies, and we will need them to take back the base. I don't give a damn what your opinion is about the matter, you will work with them without any hostility, and without complaint, or you _will_ be going back to the outpost. Is that clear?"

Storch's attention snapped back to Reed, and she swallowed her angry retort with difficulty. "Of course...ma'am. I understand, and hope for a long and fruitful relationship with our Na'vi brethren," she managed to bite out without sounding too sarcastic or bitter.

"As do we all. Now," Reed said, voice all business. "It's largely going to be an air assault supported by ground forces. All of our assets have been moved from their original positions, and until Randall gets a satellite over us he doesn't have eyes on any of us. The good news is we'll have an artillery bombardment upon known anti-air assets and MLRS sites. We can't use artillery in any other places because we don't know just how many people Randall has on his side, or even the full situation at the base. We can assume that because he has the MLRS batteries under his control, he'll also have the anti-air, and we'll want to reduce casualties on our side as much as possible."

She gestured to the map that had unit symbols scrawled across it, and Storch studied it with razor sharp focus. "As you all can see, Rommel will be taking his _Panzergr__üppe_ and attacking the base towards the main gate, using the mine clearers to pave the way before concentrating fire on defenses. His attack will be a diversionary tactic, and will not try to force the gate."

"Mine clearers?" Sully asked, eyebrow raised before he winced in pain.

"We weren't certain of your capabilities, and a minefield is one way to hinder a mechanized force."

"Wish that I'd thought of that," he grinned, face sweating in pain. "Are you almost done?" he asked the surgeons working on him.

"We would be, sir, if you stopped moving so much and talking," the head surgeon bit out, irritation clear in his strained voice. "Lie down, or we'll hurt you more than help you, and don't talk!" Chagrined, Sully did as told, and Reed continued.

"Meanwhile, Sully...stay down, don't get yelled at again, for heaven's sake...your ground forces will be feinting towards the east before hitting the south-eastern part of the base. You'll need to travel slow, but our bombers will try to take out as many of the built in defenses on the perimeter so that you won't have to endure the heavier weapons like anti-tank rifles and heavy machine guns and mortars and such. There are mines and other static defenses, as well, so have your forces approach carefully."

"We'll be assaulting by way of the air, ma'am?" Storch asked.

"Yes. We'll be moving straight up the middle ten minutes after Rommel and Sully's ground forces make contact. My best guess is that of the RDA remaining, roughly five hundred or so are still loyal to Randall."

"What makes you say that?" Storch asked, thoughts flying to Captain Elbelkacimi.

"Because the other two hundred and fifty came with us today," Reed replied. "And not a one of them have acted in any way that shows them to be disloyal to Earth. They'll be supporting us in our attack by having elements with Rommel and the air assault. Now, the air assault will move north and enter the southern border of the base, and then immediately take the airport so that our aircraft can land, refuel, and rearm. The airport, Sully, is also on the eastern part of the base, so that once we take it, we'll have cut off what RDA personnel are on that portion of the base and annihilate them, allowing your ground forces to move up and into the base."

Rockwell raised his hand, face thoughtful. As Reed pointed at him, Storch couldn't help but wonder what his real name was. Certainly not Rockwell...she sighed, and focused on what he was asking. "Ma'am, we're going to be going straight up the middle, as you said...what's the plan afterwards? What threat does Randall really provide against us?"

Reed grimaced. "That's where the bad news comes in. Given that only the commanding officer of the EEF has the launch codes of the nukes, there are other ways to get the weapons ready for use. After all, there is always the possibility that the commander suffers a stroke or something of the like. It takes time and skilled computer technicians, but eventually the nukes can be used by someone who doesn't have the codes. However, to prevent exactly what's happening right now, the process takes a total of eight hours. We have," she checked her watch, "six hours to kill the sunovabitch. So, when we secure the airport, we'll have Sully's men make a basic perimeter so that our aircraft can land, then we'll..." For the next half hour, they went over the plan, each side putting in details, until they broke apart, ready as they could be for the battle that was coming.

xxxXXXxxx

Trudy went over the preflight checks one more time, Lochman's Scottish burr repeating everything she said as she went down the list. The entire force was, and she could feel the charged atmosphere as hundreds of pilots did they same thing she was doing while all of the ground forces made last checks, refueled, and reloaded all of their weapons. She glanced outside the canopy of the cockpit to the nine soldiers of the EEF and the four Na'vi of the...what was it, the EIU? They were huddled in a small group, likely looking at maps of Heaven's Pass and making small plans that fit into the larger plan as set down by Reed. She knew that there was some animosity between the two lieutenants, but both were also professional enough to work together. At least, those were the airs that they were putting on. Not that it mattered to her. Her job was to get the team from point a to point b. Once she was at the airport, her job was done.

"Ma'am? Have ye got any concerns now?" Lochman asked, and she turned her attention away from the soldiers starting their final checks.

"Not really," she answered. "Well, except for the obvious. We're flying into the most protected airspace on all of Pandora that's covered by triple-A batteries, SAM sites, and more, a lot of which are automated and protected from air attacks. Not only that, but our Samson also lacks armament besides our two machine guns, and has no armor. To top _that_ off, we're also the only bright white Samson that will be flying today."

"We could have flown another Samson from Hell's Gate," the Scotsman pointed out with raised eyebrows, and she scoffed before shaking her head.

"Nah, all the other ones that could still fly were claimed by the other pilots, and like hell I was going to let my baby get flown by some RDA dumbass who hasn't flown in years." At that, she paused, frowning worriedly as she looked over to all the other Samsons and Scorpions, a fair number of which were obviously older and a slightly worse condition, product of a decade spent sitting inside of the hangar at Hell's Gate. And the raid conducted by the selfsame soldiers who were now starting to board her Samson had severely limited the number of munitions available to the Samson fleet that had come from Hell's Gate. Sure, a lot of the former RDA and some of the scientists who had elected to come along were able to receive arms from the wounded or the dead soldiers that had resulted from the earlier battle, but rounds for the chin mounted guns and other weapons were harder to come by. The best they could hope for was that they wouldn't be put into a position where they would need that sort of fire power. The Hell's Gate Samsons had been very welcome, however, as now most of the soldiers could be transported. Those remaining would join the ground forces, riding on top of tanks and IFVs until they got close enough to dismount. Not a position that she envied, to be sure.

The radio crackled. "All units, prepare for movement. I say again, all units, prepare for movement."

"That's us," she said as she hit the power switch, and there was a roaring thrum as the engines came alive, the turbines screaming above them and the rotors hissing as they slowly began to turn, picking up speed and power with every passing moment. The cumulative noise as this was happening all over the field was almost deafening. "Take off vector is eight-five degrees," she called over the sound, and as though the rest of the pilots were thinking the same thing, all Samsons and Scorpions lifted off about a foot from the ground and then spun to face the proper direction as though they were part of a choreographed dance.

"Commence operations," Reed ordered over the radio. There was an immediate change in pitch throughout the field as the aircraft took off like a giant blanket being picked up, starting from the front of the formation and rolling back towards the end. Her head was on a swivel and she was gripping the controls tightly.

Evidently Lochman noticed her discomfort. "You alright, Storch?" he asked, concerned eyes glancing her way as often as they could, given he was just as busy as she was, a second pair of eyes and hands as the preformed the complicated dance of operating the machine that they were sitting in.

"Yeah," she muttered in a terse voice, forcing herself to relax. Reacted faster that way. "Just been a long, long time since I've flown in a formation like this, and some of the other pilots are even more out of practice than I am. Keep your head on a swivel." Lochman didn't say anything, but nodded, and began to exactly as she had ordered, making sure that the nearest Samsons and Scorpions stayed their proper spacing. At first it wasn't that bad. She could convince herself that she was just flying, and not think about where she was flying to. At least, she could do so until the radio announced that they were five minutes away from their objective. She suddenly wondered exactly what she was flying into. Considering that Banshees were one of the main methods of transportation and fighting on Pandora, she could be flying into a death trap. She glanced nervously at the rapidly growing dark smudge on the horizon. "Once we come under fire, I'm dropping down low as much as possible," she announced to Lochman. "Hopefully the number of targets will confuse any radar installations, but-"

A streak of smoke ripped across the sky from the direction of the base, trailing behind a bright flare of light, and there was an ugly smear of black, red, and white as a Samson a hundred meters away caught the missile head on and turned into a bulging fireball that streamed black tendrils of smoke as it spewed shrapnel. A second later, the thunderclap-loud shockwave slammed into her Samson with enough force to rattle the canopy and throw her aircraft several feet sideways. She and Lochman threw alarmed looks at one another (though she would later be proud to say that his face was more terrified than alarmed...but she _had_ faced down Quaritch once upon a time...) and she shoved down on the joystick as Lochman shouted a warning to the soldiers in the Samson's bay. The Samson's frame rattled in objection to the steep dive even as more missiles began to fly into the rapidly disintegrating formation...

xxxXXXxxx

Colonel Josef Sarkov stood in the control tower of the airport, glaring at the five RDA punks who had stormed into _his_ control tower, demanding that they surrender or die. He had realized that it would be better to agree to their demands at that point in time rather than refuse and get hurt unnecessarily. Everyone always viewed fighter pilots as brash, compulsive, not thinking things through. Idiots..._fools_. They had to constantly plan ahead, deciding what targets to use their limited ordnance on. He knew that he'd have one chance. And the young and stupid RDA soldiers who had stormed into _his_ control tower didn't know a damn thing about him. They didn't know that he had spent the beginning of his military career in some of the worst areas in Russia, and had learned how to brawl from some naval infantry and some Spetznaz. Ah, the bar fights those days...fond memories.

But they didn't know him, these young punks. They didn't recognize the difference between surrendering and stalling for time. They thought that just because they had automatic weapons and had disarmed everyone in the tower that they were in charge. They didn't recognize the danger of allowing a Russian bear to go unfettered. There was a rumble and a hissing roar from the distance, and he watched with helpless rage as a salvo of missiles fired from the SAM batteries that dotted the base. He snarled a curse in Russian as he strode quickly to the windows, watching as the missiles streaked off into the distance. What were they shooting at, Banshees, or human aircraft? He had to regain control of the tower, and coordinate. But how? His opponents did have automatic weapons, and he had nothing but his bare fists, a couple of pens in his pockets, and his wits. How was he supposed to-

He blinked. Of course. An old ploy, to be sure, but it might work. All he needed was an opening. He grunted, and stumbled away from the window, grasping his left arm as he began to gasp for breath. "Please...!" he groaned through clenched teeth as he dropped to his left knee. "Make it stop!"

"Hey, old man, sit back down," came the sharp and annoyed command.

"Jesus, he's having a heart attack!" one of his command personnel snapped from her position at a console. "Help him!"

"Oh, I'll help him alright!" the same RDA punk answered, his tone of voice promising pain rather than relief. Sarkov didn't look up as boots clomped heavily across the floor. Instead he continued to gasp, groan, and sway where he was crouched. All he had to do was wait until...a hard and heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he burst into motion. The mercenary had approached from his seven o'clock, allowing Sarkov to turn into the attack as he surged up. Young fool had his submachine gun loose and dangling from the carabiner attaching it to his tac-vest, and had probably been planning on grabbing his shoulders and bodily forcing him to a chair. Didn't matter now. Sarkov used the force of his turning body to increase the power of his right hook that caught the punk at the base of his jaw. There was an ugly crunch, and he felt some of his fingers go with his adversary's jaw, but he put all pain out of his mind as his left hand grabbed a shoulder and spun the mercenary around even as he began to collapse, eyes rolling back in his head.

Then it was just like riding a bicycle...left arm hooking around the unconscious man's neck, supporting the body as his right arm reached around and grabbed the submachine gun. "Zhri govno i zdohni!" he snarled as he fired off several short bursts. Three of the mercenaries went down, and the fourth ducked down behind some of the consoles. Unfortunately for him, Sarkov's soldiers charged him, some pausing to take the weapons off of the three that he had wounded or killed. There was a short and vicious gunfight, and two of the EEF went down, one only wounded, the other going down with the slackness of death. Then the room was silent, save for the moans of the wounded, the scent of cordite thick in the air. He realized suddenly the he was breathing harder than he had any right to. He grunted as he broke the neck of the unconscious RDA punk with a vicious, sharp jerk. He needed to work out more.

"Sir, a heart attack?" Sergeant Green asked as he began to see to Lieutenant Danby's wounds. "What are you, forty-five?"

He shrugged as he passed the submachine gun off to another soldier. "I've lived hard life," he retorted. "I look like I'm fifty, maybe sixty. These fools didn't know me." Shaking his head a little, he pointed to five soldiers, three of whom already had weapons in their hands. "Take their weapons, and secure this building." It was only a control tower, five people could hold the airlocks long enough...he hoped. "You two," he motioned to another two, the biggest of the men and women here. "Dispose of their bodies...put them in a supply closet or a bathroom or something before they start stinking up this place." As the seven he had motioned to burst into motion, he looked around at the rest of his personnel. "Let's get going, people, we need to let them know that we're in control, at least here." They all burst into motion, and he glanced out towards the sparkling blur on the horizon. God help those poor bastards...

xxxXXXxxx

"...so, we're called the Black Masks because of our visors?" she shouted over the noise of the rotors, one hand absently clutching the side of the Samson. Lieutenant Rockwell nodded, broad, blue face carefully impassive.

"We fear you, hate you, are in awe of you," he answered solemnly. "Any other human units we've faced have been able to be beaten, been able to be pushed back. From your aircraft to your tanks to your infantry, everyone we've faced have been able to be beaten by enough numbers or munitions...though, admittedly, your aircraft were the hardest to counter. During the Battle of the Plains, as you call it, the Black Masks countered our offensives, and once they arrived, they did not move, no matter how hard we hit them. Even in the battle earlier, a lesser unit would have folded far sooner, allowing us a complete victory. You held on. You are respected for your bravery and tenacity."

She nodded. "Your...cleverness," she bit the word out, trying to be civil, "is also admirable. You were able to use a weakness against us that we never expected to be exploited. My compliments."

Rockwell opened his mouth to respond when the first missile flew into the massive air formation and completely annihilated one of the Samsons, the sight followed almost instantly by the shockwave from the explosion. She flinched at the loudness of the blast, as well as the bone rattling blow from the explosion. Almost immediately afterwards, her stomach rose up to her throat as the Samson went into a steep dive. "Shit!" she cursed as both hands went to grip something, _anything_ as the other soldiers in the bay shouted out in alarm.

"Hang on!" Chacon shouted from the cockpit, and Storch grit her teeth as another three Samsons and a Scorpion were downed...two by missile, and the other two by because they collided with each other. "Hopefully you didn't eat anything for breakfast! Let's see how this bad bitch runs!" Chacon practically crowed over the radio, and Storch swallowed past a suddenly dry mouth.

"What's that supposed to meeeeeaaaaaan?" she cried, the last word drawn out as the Samson began to take evasive maneuvers, maneuvers she didn't even know that the airframe of a Samson could withstand. All the while, the air became filled with the contrails of anti-air missiles and aircraft continued to go down. An eternity later, the missiles were joined by lines of tracers, and the rate of aircraft going down doubled. Later, Chacon would admit that she didn't know if it was luck or her flying skills that got them to the airport, or a combination of the two. All that Storch knew was that she was waiting for the 20mm or 50mm cannon shells to shred the Samson like it was made of paper or for a sudden jerking impact of a missile hit. All the while, only two thoughts ran through her mind. _Where the hell is our artillery? Where the __**fuck**__ is our air support?_

xxxXXXxxx

The benefit of firing artillery on your own base was that you knew the exact coordinates of every single piece of artillery, anti-air, and bunker in the base. The benefit of having GPS satellites and receivers was that you knew exactly where you were. The benefit of having radar guided fire control systems meant that once you fire a single round, the gun will automatically correct for barometric pressure, wind, humidity, and temperature. Man didn't aim the artillery piece at all. It was all controlled by the computers and radar that each gun had. Man maneuvered the artillery piece into place, man went through the firing sequence, man pulled the trigger (or the lanyard, as the case was), but the aiming was done by computers. Accuracy was up, as a result. The gun crews on this hot Pandoran summer day knew that every round they fired would land within ten meters of their target coordinate. Maybe not enough to properly knock out a hardened bunker, but those weren't their targets. Oh no, they wanted the anti-air sites. Knock those out, and air support could land, rearm, and refuel. Rearm with toys such as ground penetrating bombs and bunker busters. "Target acquired!" the gun commander shouted, a call echoed along the line of 155mm and 105mm artillery pieces. There was a whirring as the gun motors went into action, the gun barrel tracking left and then up. "Load HE!"

"Loading!" the crew responded as they rammed first the 155mm shell into the barrel, followed by the powder charges. There was a clank as they secured the breech, the gun sergeant holding the lanyard. "Gun ready!"

"Shoot!"

"ON THE WAY!"

There was a thundering, bellowing _**crack**_ that was echoed up and down the line. "Reload!"

"Reloading!"

The next volley was fired by the 105mm cannons, thanks to their faster reloading period, but the heavier 155mm howitzers weren't far behind them. The orders were simple. The 155mm's target the anti-air missile batteries, the 105mm's hit the AAA batteries. Each gun fire three rounds at their respective targets and then switch to another position. Once the anti-air assets had been neutralized, wait for further targets. Sweat ran down backs as soldiers preformed a dance that had grown more high-tech over the years, but a dance that had been preformed for more than five hundred years...

xxxXXXxxx

Major Shaun Sigona flew the endless circle of his holding pattern, keeping an eye on both the fuel gage, which was getting empty enough to concern him, and on his weapons counter, which was depressingly short of munitions. One 2,000lb bomb, one incendiary bomb, and the automatic cannon. Not much to play with, when the time came. And the rest of his flight was similarly empty...hell, he knew for a fact that Viper Three only had ammo left for the automatic cannon. The supersonic bombers were also low on bombs, but they had enough for one good run. The A-15Cs had some rocket and cluster munitions left, and plenty of ammo left for their cannons. The AC-150J was the best off, overall, but its size and lack of maneuverability meant that it couldn't go into the airspace protected by the AA guns and missiles until they were suppressed, courtesy of the red legs. Who were taking their damn time!

His radio crackled. "All flights, mission is a go, I say again, mission is a go," the calm, cool, collected voice of the combat air traffic controller reported, and he sighed a sharp breath of relief.

"Roger, solid copy, Viper flight, diamond formation. Let's go kill some traitors!"

Through his bravado, however, he was worried. There were a lot of support and administrative personnel still on the base, some of them his friends. He could possibly kill them with his bombs and cannons. They were probably already suffering an artillery barrage. Who knew what the RDA traitors had already done to them! But the fact of the matter remained...they all had to be perfect in where they put their munitions. "Remember, we're going for the MLRS sites as our primaries and the remaining anti-air sites as our secondary," one of the A-15 pilots said over the radio. Sigona didn't bother answering him. The base was approaching rapidly, first a dark smudge on the horizon that grew quickly in size to the point where he could see the different portions to the base. He could also see the Samsons and Scorpions inbound, missiles, flak, and tracer fire flitting out to meet them. The flak seemed to be concentrated above the Samsons and Scorpions, and they weren't close enough to see why, not just yet.

"Jesus," Darlington breathed into his mask, and Sigona couldn't help but agree with him. Those poor bastards were getting slaughtered. A trail of wreckage showed the azimuth of approach that the Samsons and Scorpions had taken. "Christ, looks like we aren't the only ones taking casualties," Darlington noted a moment later, and Sigona noticed the cloud of Banshees above the Samsons and Scorpions, right where the flak was being concentrated. Flak would do more to the Na'vi and their Banshees than missiles would. He didn't envy them. Hopefully...he strained his eyes. Yes! There were plumes of smoke within the base perimeter, and the anti-aircraft fire was noticeably slacking off. Not by much, but hopefully by enough.

Moments later they were over the base, and they quickly found the first of the MLRS sites, which was pointing towards Rommel's sector of approach. He couldn't tell if it had fired yet or not, but that didn't matter. No anti-air was being directed their way yet, but that was going to change _real_ fast. A ten second burst with the automatic cannon, and one of the rounds must have hit a rocket, because the site was suddenly just not _there_ anymore, a faintly smoking crater showing where it used to be. Tracers flew across his nose, and he flinched, rolling to get away from the site, not knowing that it got hit by an artillery shell...and another...and another, all three almost dead on impact, destroying the 20mm cannon before it could fire the burst that had been corrected by radar and would have torn through his engines, sending him careening out of control, unable to eject before his fighter crashed into the ground. No, all he knew was that he was being targeted by radar guided missiles, and now he was evading to the best of his ability while his fellow pilots dealt with the same problem while simultaneously knocking out what few MLRS batteries were left.

The supersonic bombers laid their remaining 2,000 pound bombs right where they needed to, along the border of the base where Sully was to bring his army. Artillery continued to rain from the skies, destroying the one thing that kept the base reasonably safe from attack. Less that five minutes from when the first fighter appeared overhead, all MLRS batteries were destroyed and enough radar installations and anti-air positions had been knocked out that the EEF had complete air superiority. Certainly enough for the AC-150J to begin an orbit right over the base, firing at what positions were left as well as bunkers and pillboxes. The two separate ground attacks grew closer, while the air assault forces swooped in over a crashed and shattered perimeter, depositing troops on the tarmac, troops who were met with stiff resistance that was countered by artillery, Scorpion rocket runs, and close air support. The first jets landed to refuel and rearm. All the while, in the command center, a madman raged...


	25. Death's Cold Embrace

**AN: Wow, okay, guys, I'm so sorry about how long this took. At first it was just me being kinda lazy, but a month ago my computer died, so I lost the two thousand words that I had already written for this chapter. It was only just recently that I managed to get a new computer and back it up with the files that I had from February of last year. Yeah. You can guess how happy I am about that. Just goes to show that you need to back up your computer frequently, and not lose the power cord to your 1TB external hard drive. *Sigh* Alright, well, I'm kinda jumping the gun writing this (22OCT2012), but hopefully I'll get this chapter done in a few days. See you on the other side.**

DEATH'S COLD EMBRACE

_Who, Storch? Yeah, of course Storch was there, she wouldn't have it any other way. Everyone knows the story about how she stared down Colonel Reed after demanding that she be a part of the attack. Honestly, I couldn't imagine her not being there for the final battle, even after the Battle of Hill Four-twenty-one. She was exhausted, wounded, and just plain old worn down, but she still pushed herself. I can tell you that it was a pain in the rear keeping her alive…hell, sometimes I wonder…_

_What's that? Oh, right, you weren't there. If you had been there, if you had known Storch from before we left Earth, you would understand. It's hard to explain really, but after the loss of Captain Burns and First Sergeant Balow, after half the platoon got wiped out at Hill Four-twenty-one, and especially after Platoon Sergeant Tan got hit…Storch was different. She felt like…like a broken doll, maybe. She was still performing to standard, no doubt, but it felt like she was missing a part of herself. She never said anything about it, but I think she felt like a failure, that she had failed her commander, her platoon, and the Earth. She also didn't seem like someone who would commit suicide, but I wouldn't be surprised if she secretly hoped that she would buy the farm on that last mission. She was a little bit too reckless, took a few too many risks. She had lost everything, and had nothing to lose._

_I tell you what, that last battle was really something…_

Interview for Pandora News Network

Documentary of the Great Interstellar War

Master Sergeant J. Service, speaking of his

days as a Staff Sergeant squad leader.

xxxXXXxxx

The sound of battle was almost continuous now. The RDA still doggedly held on to a small number of perimeter defenses, firing upon EEF and Na'vi forces both, even as the fire that was fired back at the traitors increased steadily, artillery occasionally landing, trying to crack through reinforced bunkers that were designed just for the purpose of resisting artillery attacks. The jets were still refueling and rearming, a process made difficult by mortar attacks and small arms fire from various buildings that surrounded the hangars and tarmac. The EEF and the RDA were massing at both airfields, and the RDA were too thinly stretched to counter them in force, but they had enough to make themselves annoying. Even now, Lieutenant Storch had her soldiers crouching behind a small berm what was supposedly supposed to stop debris from blowing out onto the runway itself. Hundreds of other soldiers were likewise situated, and PFC Willow Claire found herself next to three RDA soldiers, men who were loyal to Earth and not to Major Randall.

To her surprise, they began to talk with her. Well, maybe not too surprising, as the staging area was nearly complete chaos, with unit after unit getting deposited, officers and NCOs trying to rally troops to push into the base that was still largely held by the treacherous RDA.

"So, wait, your platoon sarn't smoked you for an entire _night_?" one of them asked, incredulous. They had been curious about the Ell-tee, and she had answered their questions as best as she could. "Man, I would'a been _pissed_ if that had been me!"

"That's for damn sure," one of the other two remarked. "That's some, like, basic training bullshit. I would've been more pissed at your Platoon Sergeant and your Platoon Leader than the guys who did the raping."

Claire frowned, more out of curiosity than out of anger. "How do you figure?"

"Getting smoked for that long, because the Ell-tee weren't smart enough to ask for help? Yeah, what happened sucked, but not your fault, not really," the third replied.

Claire shrugged noncommittally. "Honestly, that smoking was nothing compared to some of the shit that we went through in training. I can understand where you guys are coming from, but for us, it wasn't too bad, certainly nothing when compared with what we had to do to get where we are now…honestly, sometimes normal PT is harder than that smoke session. And it was our fault. We should have been more situationally aware. Could've saved a lot of pain for a lot of people if we had paid more attention and not let her walk off alone that night."

The first one who spoke snorted. "Y'all are fuckin' crazy!" he muttered.

Claire smiled at him, though she knew he couldn't see it. He could probably hear it one her voice, though. "I know, that's why we're Special Forces!" she said brightly. "Looks like Sergeant Service is calling, I'll catch you boys later." Barely pausing to acknowledge their farewells, she jogged over to where Sergeant Service was waving her over to the rest of the squad. Maybe things were finally going to get loud, instead just sitting around. As she jogged, she noticed the two Avatar Special Forces soldiers being injected with some sort of chemical by a medic, their massive blue bodies shielded by a concrete barrier. She wondered idly what they were doing, and the thought flitted away before she could truly focus on it. She had more important things to think about and do right now…

xxxXXXxxx

Gregori Senko watched as the syringe was emptied into one of his veins, and braced himself for what was coming. Being medically put to sleep was never very fun. Sure enough, moments later the world seemed to spin and then turn upside down, and he fought the urge to throw up as vertigo seized him, twisting his world around in ways that were impossible and yet all too real to his poor senses. He grit his teeth, trying to ignore the ringing that was growing louder and louder in his ears. When the darkness began to grow in his vision, he tried to fight it, even while the very last shreds of his conscious mind was telling him that he wasn't supposed to fight it, that the sooner he let it happen, the sooner he-

-with a great gasp, he awoke in this Avatar pod, staring up at the roof of the pod, his human body seized by the same vertigo that had been affecting his Avatar. However, his mind quickly realized that this body had none of the chemicals in his blood stream, and short moments after he woke up, he was completely deactivating the pod, pushing the lid up off of him. He sat up with a groan, glad to see Heffel doing the same across from him. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, remembering that his human body had been in the pod continuously for many hours. He grimaced as he quickly detached the catheter that had been helpfully collecting his urine. Their diet before entering the pods had been strictly liquid for a few days so that there would be no worry about fecal matter. He absently removed the IV line that had been feeding his body calories and liquid carbs so that he didn't dehydrate or starve to death while in the pod. Supposedly he could stay in the pod for up to ninety-six hours, but they had never done so in any tests.

As he stretched, he suddenly recognized the atmosphere inside of the Avatar command center. An extension of the main command center, it was in a separate wing, completely isolated from the rest of the complex save for one entry point that was the most secure series of doors on Pandora. No one without the proper clearance was allowed in the heart of the Avatar operations on Pandora, on the pain of being shot on sight. Major Randall was not on the clearance list, and had raised a big stink about it, but to no avail. They had their own power, their own water main, gas main, and atmosphere controls, so unless you could force your way through the heavily defended doors, you couldn't get in. Unfortunately, that was a two-edged sword: they couldn't get out if the command center was held by enemy forces. At least…that was the common perception.

Soldiers were running about in a panic, some of them wounded and all of them armed. One of them spotted the two of them sitting in their pods, and visibly sagged with relief. "Captain, one of the Avatar teams is awake!" he called out, and an officer hustled over, dark skin the color of dark chocolate glistening with sweat.

"Thank God that some of you are up!" the officer said briskly as he reached them. "It's been hell out there, and while we've held them off so far, they've got us stuck in here."

Senko noticed that the man looked exhausted, and realized that he must have been part of the previous night's watch. The officer of the watch, likely. "What's the SITREP?" Senko asked as he hopped out of the pod, wincing slightly as his bare feet hit the cold floor. He strode to his personal locker purposefully, Heffelfinger right next to him, both of them punching in their codes quickly. As the doors popped open, revealing their uniforms and their personal weapons, the Captain began to explain.

"I'm Captain Washington, was the officer of the watch last night. Shortly after the QRF left the base things went downhill, RDA personnel trying to seize the entire base. They tried to storm our position, and we took some casualties but held them off. After three attempts to get through, they stopped trying, and now are just keeping us in here. We're starting to run out of ammo and medical supplies, however."

Senko pulled out his compact assault rifle from his locker, checked to make sure it was still working properly and that he had ammo for it. Once he was satisfied, he focused all attention on Captain Washington. "Casualties?"

The Captain gestured towards a row of supine figures, two of them completely covered by blankets. Considering that there were only eight security personnel, the two dead and two others being seen to by the on duty nurse was a significant portion of the fighting capabilities of the Avatar Command Post. However, now they had two more fighting men who were ready and raring to go. "Roger, sir. My partner and I are going to break this siege and see what we can do about the rest of the enemies in the complex. You should all stay here and guard my comrades still in their Avatar bodies."

There was a snort of derision, and Senko looked over to see the nurse, a middle-aged and just barely overweight woman with serious grey eyes, glaring at him, daggers in her eyes. "How do you propose breaking this siege?" she asked, voice bitter. "Try going through the front door? You'll just get killed, and then I'll have to see to your bodies! You soldiers and your desire for war, it's stupid. Randall and his little group of fanatics, you EEF, and the loyal RDA, all dancing the same stupid dance, trying to get your fool selves killed!"

Senko shrugged. "They did not start the fight," he said, tone almost bored. "I plan on finishing it." Without another word, he strode over to one of the walls, stepping up onto a few crates filled with repair parts for the pods. Deftly, his fingers found the nearly invisible edges of the hatch, and he opened it. "You learn many interesting things as Special Forces. This command center is linked to the rest of the base through a few ventilation shafts. However, we do have our own air units, and several sensors along these shafts, so that our atmosphere has a higher pressure than everywhere else. People hear that, and think that we can only go through the doors. False. We just keep positive pressure so that no outside contaminants can entering this center. Only time the ventilation system locks down is if there's exposure to the outside atmosphere." He smirked down at the nurse and the captain and all the soldiers watching them with shock clear on their faces. "Come, Heffel, it is time to hunt," he sneered, one lip curling over his one remaining incisor. Their enemies were just about to have a very bad day. Without a word, Heffel climbed up into the ventilation shaft with him, and the staff of the command center watched as they disappeared into the darkness…

xxxXXXxxx

Storch cursed to herself under her breath as she took her bearings. The sound of battle had increased exponentially since all of the attacking force had landed an hour ago. Once some semblance of order had been found, they had all began to push into the base. She impatiently checked her watch. They had two hours until they expected the missiles to fly, and everyone would suffer. Definitely not good. A series of pops and crackles had her reflexively crouching down, her eyes briefly flitting over to the burning husk of one of the EEF tanks. Once the RDA Separatists had discovered that their outer defenses were doomed to attack by a variety of artillery, air strikes, vehicle attacks, and small arms attacks, they had begun to pull back. Now the interior of the base was turned into a running battle, and at the beginning the tanks had tried their hardest to follow after and support the EEF and RDA Loyalist infantry, but the MOUT terrain had proved to be a nightmare. She wasn't sure how many tanks and IFVs had fallen to shoulder fired anti-tank rockets and missiles, but she knew that the number was far more than it should have been.

"Right," she said, nodding towards Service and the others who had joined her, as well as the handful of EEF and Loyalist infantry who had joined up with her. "Let's move." They did so, constantly scanning, unable to know what was around the next corner without someone actually sticking their head around the corner. A highly dangerous proposition, given that friendly and enemy forces were mixed in with each other, and taking the time to see exactly _who_ that was could prove to be lethal…

The point man, one of the RDA troopers, stuck his head around the corner of the DFAC that they were moving alongside. He yelped and jerked his head back as there was a roar of gunfire, chips of concrete blasting into the air as bullets hit the building. "Those were EEF!" he snarled, and Storch frowned, running up to his position.

"Were you sure?" she asked, hands gripping her rifle tightly. At the soldier's terse nod, she grit her teeth angrily. As if they didn't have enough to worry about…. "Oi!" she shouted out when the gunfire lightened up. "We're EEF and Loyalists! Who're you?!"

There was an audible pause. "_Lef-_tenant Griswold of Third Section, A Company. Who are you chaps?!" came the hollered response. Bloody Brits Battalion.

"Lieutenant Storch, Delta Company, Second Battalion! You almost killed one of my soldiers, Lieutenant!" She waved her men and women forward with an impatient jerk of her arm. As she rounded the corner herself, she could see that her British counterpart was doing the same.

"Terribly sorry about that," he grumbled as he came within easy speaking distance. "But your bloke looked like an RDA regular. You're bloody well lucky that we decided to fire some warning shots first."

She shook her head impatiently. "Never mind about that," she snapped as she pulled out her holopad, dropping to a knee, pleased to see the all the noncoms in the group were setting out security. "I've got us only six hundred meters from one of the entrances of the Command Complex," she said as she pulled up her map. "Working together, we should be able to get there with no trouble. How's that sound to you, Lieute-?"

"Enemy infantry, one hundred meters, seven o'clock!" one of the soldiers lying in security screamed out, and suddenly the air was full of snaps and hisses, tracers streaking past her like malignant bees. Cursing wildly, she spun, dropped, brought her rifle to her shoulder, and began to return fire, aiming at muzzle flashes through thick smoke. She was pleased to see that Lieutenant Griswold was doing the same thing. The group of Separatists was small, so far as she could see, but no less deadly. Bullets snapped into flesh on both sides, and she grit her teeth, ignoring the screams from the wounded and dying as she did the only thing she could do…fight back.

xxxXXXxxx

Major Sigona couldn't do anything. This was the most frustrating part of the battle for a pilot. He had gladly refueled and rearmed, but now that he was in the air again, he wasn't able to do anything. All the major targets had been either destroyed or abandoned, and he could _see_ groups of soldiers running towards the massive command center in the middle of the base. But from his altitude he couldn't see which units were on which side. And even if he DID know, the groups were terribly intermingled, with gun fights occurring at ranges of no more than one hundred meters. None of his ordnance was safe to drop that close to friendly forces, and even a gun run could result in a friendly casualty. What made it worse was the almost constant call for close air support, which he couldn't provide for anyone on the ground. He growled softly with frustration as he continued his orbit around the base. He had already been targeted twice by shoulder launched SAMs, and was beginning to run low on flares and chaff. "Control, this is Viper Wun, I'm useless up here, more of a target than anything else. Please advise, over."

"That's a solid copy, Viper Wun. All flights, all flights, proceed to an altitude of ten thousand feet and wait for further orders. How copy, over?"

A volley of 'rogers' and 'solid copy's answered him, and once Sigona voiced his acknowledgement he snarled a curse off the air as he pounded his fist against the thick plastic of his canopy, not knowing that the same curse was snapped in Russian by Colonel Sarkov as he watched all his jets climbing up into the sky, out of the range of any shoulder fired SAMs held by the enemy, but also out of the airspace where they could actively support the ground forces. Now the fight was in the hands of the infantry currently engaging in bloody close quarters combat. Now all they could do was wait…

xxxXXXxxx

Senko and Heffelfinger moved slowly, carefully, quietly, their speed measured in inches, not feet. Now was the most dangerous part of their journey. They were now over the heads of the RDA who were keeping their comrades inside the Avatar Command Center. The two of them could _hear_ them talking, moving around, fiddling with their weapons. If they made any sound, they would die before they could respond to any attack the RDA would make upon them. Further ahead and to the left the ventilation system entered into a store room that shouldn't have many RDA, if any at all. But now they had to crawl agonizingly slowly over the heads of those who would be perfectly happy to riddle them full of bullet holes. And it _was_ agonizing…Senko carefully lifted his leg from the shaft, bringing it forward before gently laying it down, muscles burning from the slow, deliberate movements. He lifted himself up on his palms, and slid forward, making sure that nothing was dragging against the bottom of the ventilation shaft. Gently lay down, repeat the process, over and over and over, ignoring the burning of his muscles, ignoring the sweat that ran into his eyes and dampened his palms.

But then, finally, they were past the RDA, moving slightly faster, taking the left arm of the cramped shaft when it branched off. Reaching the grate that led into the store room, Senko waited patiently as Heffel peered into the room. A moment later, Heffel turned around and shook his head. No one in the room. As carefully as they had been this entire situation, they pried open the grate, pulling it back into the shaft. Senko lowered Heffel into the room, and then scooted out of the shaft, Heffel guiding his feet to crates and then to the floor. Once they both had boots on the ground, Senko winced at Heffel as he stretched his cramped and burning muscles. Heffel merely smirked back as he did the same. They both needed to be loose for this next part. Wordlessly, they both drew their pistols before fitting suppressors on the end of the barrels. Thank God that the Avatar Command Center was stocked with Special Operatives in mind. Doing this without suppressors would be quite difficult…

They stacked on the door, Senko leading. Better to do this with four men, but they had to make do. Gently, carefully, Senko opened up the door, waiting for any sound or any tension on the door itself that might mean it had been trapped, but there was nothing. Breathing a little easier, he opened it fully before darting into the corridor, facing away from the direction that would lead to the Avatar Command Center, knowing that Heffel would face that way a split second after he cleared the door frame. There was no one facing his way. Heffel patted his arm. Clear his way, too. However, all they had to do was take the right hand turn that Heffel was facing, and they would be facing the group that was keeping their fellow soldiers pinned in. Unacceptable.

Senko turned around, and they both moved at a quiet jog towards the 'T' intersection. Once again, they stacked up, Heffel leading this time. Senko took in a deep breath, steeling himself for the next thirty seconds. Heffel leaned back, and Senko pushed forward slightly, his world sharpening as his body dumped adrenaline into his blood stream. Both of them darting forward, pistol already coming up even before clearing the corner. The RDA traitors huddled behind cover, more intent on staying safe than trying to force their way into the Avatar Command Center. Two of them facing Senko and Heffel, shock clear to see on their faces as one of them began to shout a warning, the other reaching for a weapon. Heffel put two rounds into the one reaching for the weapon, while Senko ignored the one shouting. He was to the left of Heffel, and therefore was expected to work from the left to the right.

Years of training in the 'Quick House' saved his life. He was fast and utterly confident in his pistol skills, and did not rush, instead remaining smooth and in control as his sights centered on one, blurred with recoil, shifted right, centered, blurred, shifted right…though distantly aware that these men would kill him if he was too slow, he didn't allow that to effect his work. After all, slow is smooth, smooth is fast, as the mantra went. Heffel preformed just as well, both their pistols blurs as they engaged the eleven RDA who were manning the barricade. Several of them managed to turn around. Three of them managed to get their weapons to their shoulders. Only one managed to get a sight picture before both Senko and Heffel put a total of five shots into him. Less than ten seconds, and two managed to surprise and neutralize eleven. They both reloaded and then quickly put bullets into the heads of those who still moved. No prisoners. No mercy.

Once the last bullet smacked into bone and flesh, Senko let out a shuddering breath. Even after all the years of training, after fighting in several battles, there was something to be said about taking on a group where if a single mistake was made, they would die. A moment slower, a little less sure in both himself and in his partner, and the RDA would have had time to return fire. That or radio for help, which would have been worse. He licked suddenly dry lips as he lifted his own radio to his mouth. "Enemies neutralized. Keep in the center, it's safe. We're going hunting." He released the PTT button and turned the radio off. Last thing they would need would be someone trying to talk to them at the wrong time. "Let's go." Even if they died, they would cause one HELL of a ruckus. The two hunters set off at a low jog, pistols holstered, assault rifles carried at the high ready. They were prepared. Only one question remained: was the enemy?

xxxXXXxxx

Storch nodded her thanks to the medic even as she winced as he tied the newest bandage to go on her body tight. If he noticed her gesture, he didn't acknowledge it, already busy with the next casualty. Far too many of those, just as there were far too many still bodies covered up with ponchos, tarps, blankets raided from a nearby barracks. And they still hadn't forced their way into the Command Facility! She got up, wincing again as the skin around the bandaged wound on her upper arm pulled tight around the wound. This one was probably going to scar. The damn bullet hadn't entered fully, instead cutting a trough into her skin as neatly as any knife. Wouldn't stop her from fighting though…

"Are those rockets up here yet?!" someone snarled, and she looked over to see the Major in charge of this particular entrance pace back and forth, radio held to his ear.

"What's up with him?" a familiar voice asked, and she shrugged at Sergeant Service.

"You know the situation," she responded quietly, only just loud enough to be heard over the near continuous gunfire. Ah yes, the 'situation.' The RDA Seperatists were buttoned up tight in the complex. They evidently had enough machine guns, spare barrels, and ammo to last through an apocalypse. There must have been at least four machine guns at this entrance alone, not to mention assault rifles, submachine guns, and pistols. It had been like walking into a wall of lead. So many attempts to assault the position, all of them failures, with heavy casualties. She had been unlucky enough to be wounded in the wave before last, but lucky enough that the wound wasn't a bad one.

"But why rockets?" Service asked as he stepped out of the way for two soldiers limping their way into the aid station.

"So we can crack open the nut." It was Harrison, a frighteningly large rifle slung behind his back, hands casually in his pockets. Despite the fact that there was a full scale battle raging over the entire base, he looked like he didn't have a care in the world. "Shock and awe, fire a volley of rockets, bust this bad boy wide open."

As if in answer to what he was saying, an ATV with a trailer attached to it roared by, careful to stop before it exposed itself to the fire of the Seperatists. Noticing that the trailer was full of anti-tank rockets, Storch started to make her way over to the Major. The Seperatists were damn lucky that the situation was as it was. Units had been separated during the chaotic landing, and there just hadn't been time to regroup with parent units. The chain of command was almost completely broken, officers without their units, units without their officers. Storch had her troops and Harrison only because they had been in the same Samson. Units too large for one Samson? Forget it. As it was, their current position had the Major, her, and Lieutenant Griswold, who was currently at the aid station, tibia shattered from a bullet. Plenty of sergeants, but barely any officers. Just made things a bit hairier, that was all.

"Sir?" she called out, aware of SSG Service at her back, and some of the other NCOs gravitating in. "The plan?"

The Major (one of the Brits? Too tired and hurt to care at this point, really) snorted. "Hit them with a volley of rockets," he replied, accent definitely not from any Commonwealth nation she knew of. "While they're still reeling from the attack, charge in, grab them by the throat, and kill the bastards. Storch, you've got point, don't fail us." He nodded towards the rockets. "The other two entrances are doing the same thing, but I think that we got our rockets first. Orders are to go the moment we get them."

She glanced over at the trailer, now being swarmed by soldiers picking up rockets. Things were about to get very loud very quick. Moments later, she was proven right. A smoke grenade was deployed, and riflemen fired blindly into the tunnel, suppressing the enemy as five soldiers equipped with rockets darted out. A chorus of 'back blast area clear!'s were called out, and then the rockets fired with booms. Even as the rockets themselves cracked and thudded inside of the complex, another five soldiers were repeating the process. The moment they stepped out of the way, Storch waved her arm forward.

"Follow me!" Sprinting forward, through the remaining tatters of smoke from the smoke grenade, into the hazy gloom of the complex, rifle at the high port, breath burning in her lungs as she sprinted as hard and as fast as she could. She vaulted over the wrecked remains of one of the barriers, rifle tucking into her shoulder, barrel snapping from one body to the next. Movement caught her eye, an RDA trooper weakly crawling away from her, bloodied hand reaching for something she couldn't see. She shot him, twice, and then again when he didn't stop moving. Then she was surrounded by soldiers who continued to push into the building, securing the room beyond the shattered airlock. She sagged for a moment, grateful that the plan had worked, that the Seperatists hadn't managed to get a QRF force in yet, that she was still alive.

She closed her eyes, and leaned back against the ruined barrier. Her many wounds burned, pulsing with her hammering heartbeat. The world tilted as her adrenaline rush faded, and she realized that she couldn't remember being quite this tired in a very long time. Her joints ached, her legs and arms felt like they were made of jelly, and she would have given nearly anything to go to sleep for the next month. But then the faces of Tan, Treleaven, Burns, and Balow flashed through her memory. She wasn't done working, not yet. She could go on for an eternity, just to get the mission done. Through will alone, she shoved her discomfort, her fatigue, and her weariness into a far off place. Her eyes opened, and those soldiers who had accompanied her were watching her, silent, waiting, even Harrison waiting, slightly separate from the group, but a member nonetheless. She nodded, and Service offered his hand. Briskly, she swung her arm forward, hand confidently clasping his forearm as his hand did the same to hers. He pulled her up, quickly grasping her shoulder, showing his steady support, the eternal job of the NCO.

"Right, let's go get the bastard." She checked the clock in the lower corner of her mask's HUD. Fifty minutes left. Hopefully enough time. They stepped off, aware of the dozens around them. No chain of command they had, but they all knew what had to be done. Secure the other entrances, and move in to the CIC, where Randall was likely working feverishly to beat the clock. They couldn't let him succeed.

The next twenty minutes were a blur. They had enough soldiers to breach and clear every room that they passed, and they did so, the fresher soldiers generally taking point. Bullets sought her flesh and the flesh of those around her, but by some miracle she was not wounded again, nor were any of those under her command. She didn't even have to fire her weapon during the sweeping and clearing. The only surprising moments came when two of the Avatar drivers, Senko and Heffelfinger linked up with them, after evidently being quite busy killing anyone they thought they could take out. She remembered Senko from the DFAC and how he came to her aid and possibly saving her life. She was glad he had made it this far.

She was surrounded by the best, she realized dimly as they secured one of the entrances with gusto, reuniting with Colonel Reed. Harrison, Senko and Heffelfinger, SSG Service, SGT Snyder, SPC Lizyness, SPC Oltara, SPC Poindexter, PFC Vasquez, PFC Claire, PFC Hartmann, and PVT Washington, all professionals, all extremely good at what they did. Not to mention the hundreds now inside of the Command Center and the hundreds outside of it. Despite all that had happened, all the things that went so terribly wrong, she was proud to be here, glad to call those around her comrades-in-arms, willing to do what was necessary to secure peace and save Earth. And now they only had one more target.

It was reminiscent of the situation at the entrances. EEF and RDA Loyalists were grouped, ready to storm the final obstacle, but those few Seperatists left alive were keeping down almost continuous fire, trying to eat up time. Half-an-hour to go, and they likely had ammo and weapons to spare. Maybe they would run out before the time did, but they couldn't take that chance. Officers, dozens of them, meeting, planning, who would do what. Storch found it hard to concentrate, attention being drawn time and time again towards the corner that led into the CIC, where Randall waited. She watched as Harrison took a split second glance around the corner, steeled himself, swept his sniper rifle around the corner, fired, and spun back away from the return fire that tore chunks out of the concrete wall. His thumbs up to those around him hopefully meant that he got one. She saw a soldier ask him something, and Harrison shook his head, and then flashed two fingers, followed by a clenched fist. 2-0. Twenty enemy holding the position.

"Storch!"

She started, looking to Colonel Reed. "Sorry, ma'am."

"Don't apologize. You're sitting this one out, you're obviously exhausted mentally and physically. No need for you to take part in the attack, you and your soldiers have done enough already."

Storch blinked, a tidal wave of shock sweeping over her. She should be relieved, glad that she wouldn't have to risk her life anymore. She had survived the unsurvivable. Instead she felt like she had been betrayed, that she was being coddled. But she had already pressed her luck with Colonel Reed. She took a deep breath. "Yes, ma'am. That's a solid copy." She listened dumbly to the rest of the plan. More rockets, followed by suppressive fire from snipers and the automatic riflemen and machine gunners before one of the platoons from the Brits Battalion would seize the objective. Her part in the war was done. She had to fight with all her willpower not to pass out, not to scream, not to rage.

Twenty minutes, briefing over. "Sergeant Service, take the squad and get them back, clear the way for the assault team," she heard herself order, as though she were an observer, not a participant. There was the blast from two rockets, and then a solid wall of sound as the sniper rifles, automatic rifles, and GPMGs opened up at once behind her as she watched Service do as she had ordered.

It was at that moment that she realized she couldn't let it end like this. She turned around, and began to stride calmly forward, ignoring the worried call from Service. The machine gunners were finally finishing up their belts of ammo, and some grenadiers fired multiple grenades down the corridor, the blasts shaking dust from the ceiling. Even as that was going on, the assault teams were staking up, ready to go. She was peripherally aware of some of them turning their heads to look at her, but that didn't matter right now. All that mattered was that this was her chance to claim revenge for Treleaven, for Tan, for her company that Randall had so callously betrayed and sacrificed for his own twisted purposes. It was her chance to kill the man who knowingly protected a rapist, her chance to kill a sick, twisted, and evil freak.

"Storch, HOLD YOUR GROUND!" Reed, sounding truly pissed, but Storch didn't stop, didn't turn around, merely turned around the corner, and sprinted forward once more, only this time alone. To her surprise, no bullet met her, no one rose up to kill her. The security station just outside the entrance was destroyed, both by the rockets and by the suppressive fire, and blood coated the floor, spreading out still further, leaking from the shattered bodies of those brave but insane enough to still support Randall. She paid them no heed, instead focusing on the door that led to the CIC, still ajar, at least two separate blood trails leading into it. Too tired and too emotionally charged to ponder why the door hadn't been secured behind the wounded, she merely turned, presented her shoulder, and slammed into the door.

It bounced open, and she noticed the medic tending three wounded. None of them were Randall. There! Two people at computers, feverishly working. Her rifle came up, and she fired as quickly as she could, killing the two of them but also shattering computers. Even if she didn't find and kill Randall, she'd end his mad vision to see Pandora burn, the crazy-!

She stared dumbly at the floor from where she was, lying facedown. The impact that had caught her in the left shoulder blade quickly turned into excruciating pain. She had been shot, she numbly realized as she felt her armor begin to automatically put pressure onto the wound. In only a few seconds, it would administer the pain medication, and she could shoot the stupid bastard who had shot her! Shockily, she turned around to face whoever it was who had shot her in the back. Her left arm dangled, useless, likely because of bone damage…her shoulder blade? Didn't matter, had to defend herself. She drew her pistol as she finally faced the way that she came. The door was shut and bolted secure, not good. What was worse was Randall holding a revolver, rage and insanity twisting his visage into one befitting a devil.

She tried to bring up her gun, but shock and the medicine administered directly into her bloodstream slowed her down, and she saw the muzzle flash a split second before she was down again, this time because of a shot to her mid right torso. Removed from the situation because of the pain meds, she recited to herself what she had learned in first aid classes. Too high to hit any vital organs, the shot likely pierced her right lung, the larger of the two. Oh. That's why it was getting hard to breath, no matter how hard she tried. Tension pneumo-thorax. Her armor could help with that if a medic could activate the proper command. Even she could do it, but she didn't have the time. She was too busy being murdered by a psychopath.

"You know, I believe that you are the bane of my existence, girl," Randall snarled. "The old man? Fuck, he was annoying, but you? You are positively _infuriating_! You tortured my nephew before finally killing him, you survived despite how many times I tried to arrange otherwise, and you stormed my stronghold. I am going to enjoy this far more than I should." Again he fired, and Storch could feel the bones of her left hip shatter under the force of the bullet.

The pain medications weren't enough. She screamed as the pain overtook her. The world swam and she only barely avoided vomiting. Blood loss, pain, the meds, all these things combined, and she realized that she was going to die here. And she didn't care. Her only regret was that it was _him_ who was going to kill her, and that she hadn't had the chance to end his miserable life. She was dimly aware of him striding over to her, flanked by the two unwounded RDA Seperatists still left alive. A hand grabbed her uniform lapels and pulled her up, all of her wounds screaming in protest, and she almost, ALMOST passed out. She clung to the very last threads of consciousness only because she wouldn't give him the pleasure. "Do you have anything you wanna say before you die?!"

"If I didn't have my exopack on, I'd spit in your face, fucker!" she slurred. If he wanted her to beg, he had another thing coming. At her words, his face went blank, and he brought the pistol up, pressing it square against her sternum. She didn't flinch, didn't react. She realized that she was almost looking forward to it, to the end of pain. Her body hurt, her heart hurt, her mind hurt…so much pain, so soon about to go awa-

There was a cracking boom that slammed into her with concussive force before the air was filled with the sound of gunfire. Was that her being spun around, or was it the blood loss taking still more of an effect? No, she had been swung around, a muscular arm wrapped around her neck, holding her up so that she acted as a bullet shield. The door had been blown open, she noticed, and the room was now full of EEF soldiers, all shouting at her and Randall, weapons up and pointing. But the way she was being held made it hard, if not impossible, for Randall to be taken down safely. Well, she'd just have to do something about that, wouldn't she?

Her left vambrace. A small throwing knife, little more than a solid bar of steel four inches long, milled down to have a handle and a blade. She had carried it on her person ever since Anderson. When she had been facing Randall, she couldn't grab it without him noticing, but with his attention taken up by the EEF…numbly, distantly, she reached, trying to keep everything together so that she could do this one last thing, always aware of the growing difficulty to breath, always aware of the blood pouring hot and wet from her many wounds, always aware that oblivion was mere seconds away. If she faltered, she'd fail, and failure wasn't an option!

Her hand found her forearm, reached down it, her thumb and pointer finger reaching under her armor's vambrace. Found the knife, started to draw it out even as the world began to grow darker and darker, sound reduced to a ringing that encompassed everything. No! She couldn't fail now! Her hand clenched around the knife, the blade pointing down. The world around her no longer discernible, she smiled as she swung her arm as fast as she could. There was a moment's resistance, then that gave away, and warm blood coated her hand as someone howled behind her. The world tilted dangerously, and she was suddenly falling, falling, falling as gunfire exploded around her. Just before she slipped away into nothingness, she heard the shout that the room was clear, area secure. Even as she slipped under, a fierce glow of joy blossomed through her…the war was over, the fighting was finally done! Thus assuaged, she relaxed, and let the blackness overcome her.


	26. Epilogue

**AN: And so it finally ends. After such a long time, it seems strange that this is over. But, I did it, my second novel length fanfiction. I lost the original files through crashed hard drives and stuff, but I'm pretty certain we're looking at a 300+ page story here. What's most important is that while some of the characters are the property of James Cameron (Trudy, Jake Sully, Ney'tiri), the rest of the characters are mine. What's really important is that the plot is completely original. **

**In The Dark Wanderer I shadowed the plot of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and so that helped me write the story. This, I came up completely on my own. Maybe someday I may scrub this down, change certain things, and try to publish it (after all, a LOT of time and effort went into this bad boy) but for now, I think I'm going to bask in the joy of finishing yet another fanfic. Now, I can tidy up some of my other fanfics, but more importantly, work on some of my original works. Maybe someday I'll get published.**

**Honestly, my one dream is to write, get published, and then ready fanfics written about my work. Wouldn't that be cool, to not only write fanfics about my own work, but also to talk to writers on and to encourage them. Well, maybe someday in the future.**

**Thanks for reading and keeping loyal, even during my extended absences. You guys have been great, and I enjoyed getting feedback from you! As such, I ask one more time (at least for this story!) that you read, enjoy, and please review!**

EPILOGUE

Something niggled at the edge of her consciousness, and she slowly swam to awareness. A steady beeping, and the pneumatic pump-hiss of something medical. Though it felt like they were a thousand pounds, she torturously forced her eyes open. A hospital room. So, she wasn't dead. She wasn't sure if she should be relieved or saddened by that fact. Sleepily, she smacked her mouth, painfully aware of how it felt and tasted like cotton. What had happened? Where was everyone?

"Ah, excellent, you are being awake." A female's voice, one that she had been partly convinced she would never hear again. Slowly, painfully, she turned her head to her right, and there she sat, Tanja Artyomov, smiling like a Slavic angel. She grinned tremulously in response. "The doctors hadn't been entirely certain if you would be waking up anytime soon…you were almost lost on the first day. I am very happy to be seeing you okay!"

Storch winced in response. Even through the haze of what she was certain were painkillers enough to make an elephant numb, her hip, shoulder, and right torso ached dully. As she came more into full consciousness, she realized that she was almost completely immobilized. A full body cast. Reasonable, really, when one considered her wounds. To stabilize her hip and her shoulder…at least her head was free, so she could look around. She did so, this time looking to her left, trying to find the source of the pneumatic hissing. It took her a moment to realize what it was when she saw it.

A life support machine, hooked up to Tan. He looked diminished, somehow, almost buried in tubes and wires, eyes closed, a machine breathing for him. "Tan…" she breathed softly, her heart broken. She was glad that he was alive, to be sure, but what damage had he suffered that he had to be comatose and on life support? Suddenly exhausted, her head dropped back on to the pillow. "Tanja…" she muttered weakly, wishing that she could even so much as reach a hand out to her Slavic lover, but to no avail. Her cast imprisoned her. But despite her inability to move, Tanja evidently understood, as she stood from her chair, walked over, and lightly grasped the fingers protruding from the end of the cast's arms with her own warm ones.

"Shhhh, my love. It is okay, I understand, sleep now."

As she drifted back into oblivion, she realized that not only was that the first time she remembered Tanja using the word 'love' but she also realized that she really didn't mind the word, when it was coming from her.

xxxXXXxxx

Her hips, shoulder, and ribs hurt, and her breath came in short gasps as she walked on the treadmill, and with each step she grew more and more angry. It had been three weeks since her operation to reconstruct her hip and her shoulder. The doctor had been helpfully informative both before and after the surgery. One of the things brought to Pandora were nanobots to help with reconstructive surgery…simple things such as muscle regrowth, rebuilding broken bones, even healing organs. Rebuilding her shattered bones had been relatively easy for the little machines. They couldn't regrow limbs, but for most bullet wounds, the little robots could perform miracles. But they couldn't perform _all_ miracles.

She grit her teeth as an angry tear coursed down her cheek. Her hands tightened into fists as her breath hitched, and she was dimly aware of her physical therapist asking her if she was okay. No! She wasn't okay! She was walking because some stupid little robots could rebuild her hip, but Tan was still lying in a bed on life support because _they didn't have the fucking capabilities to regrow nerves_!

She had stopped walking. "Ellen? We still have another twelve minutes in this session. Do you still want to continue?" Joe Kohn, her therapist. A nice guy, really. While everyone was considered a soldier, others were almost considered reservists, the ones to first switch to civilian careers once the fighting really slowed down. Nurses, doctors, farmers, machinists…specialties across the board to help humanity get a good foothold on Pandora. Kohn was a physical therapist, a profession desperately needed now, with all the wounded from the war. She was just one of many…she was impressed that he remembered her first name.

"No. I'm done for today." She stepped off of the treadmill, peeling the electrodes off of her chest and stomach. Minutes later, she was heading back to her room, cane thumping against the floor as she made her way. The doctors said that she had maybe two months before she would be able to walk unaided. It would be maybe six months before she could return to active duty, should she so choose. Wasn't up to her, she knew. That decision was to be made by…

"Lieutenant Storch."

Her. Crap. "Colonel Reed." There she stood, face somber, in full dress uniform. Wait, that wasn't an eagle on her shoulder boards, that was a _star_. "General Reed, ma'am, my apologies." This was a meeting that she knew was coming, but one that she was dreading. And she couldn't even be in uniform, but instead in the nondescript grey sweats that every patient was issued.

Reed shot her an arch look that lasted for a _very_ uncomfortable moment before speaking. "Are you able to talk?"

She almost snorted at the question. "Ma'am, I believe that since it's you asking the question, the answer is pretty much automatically yes."

General Reed's face remained as severe as ever. "Follow me, then."

Heart nervously hammering, she followed after her commander, going as fast as she could, ignoring the pain in her healing wounds. This meeting was not likely to go well for her. She had disobeyed a direct order in those last few minutes, and had been insubordinate before the Samsons had even lifted off to go to battle. But when they got to a conference room, it wasn't military police waiting for her, but the remainder of her platoon and the leadership of every level above that were standing in small clumps, talking quietly. She faltered, confused. Was she going to be arrested in front of all of them?

Then Command Sergeant Major Rodriguez spotted the two of them, and popped to attention. "Detail, fall in!" he belted out, and there was a flurry of movement as the group formed ranks and columns. General Reed strode briskly to the head of the formation, and again Storch hesitated, not certain where she was supposed to go. Rodriguez and Reed exchanged salutes, and she replaced him.

"Lieutenant Storch, Lieutenant Colonel MacDougal, post."

Even more confused, she limped her way to General Reed, the back of her neck starting to grow red she began to blush. She was embarrassed by her wounds, by the fact that she was being called out like this, and by the fact that she had no idea what was going on. But she finally made it, and she fought the urge to blush even harder, painfully aware of the eyes behind her, watching her every move. Lieutenant Colonel MacDougal joined her, his face just as somber as his commander's was. "Ma'am," she murmured as she saluted.

General Reed returned her salute, and then gave a soft smirk. "About face."

Storch blinked, finally realizing what was going on. She wanted to protest, wanted to cry out that she wasn't worthy of this. If this much brass was in this room, then this had to be…

"Attention to orders!" Colonel MacDougal called out to the room, reading from a piece of paper. "The commanding officer of the EEF hereby awards Lieutenant Storch with the Starburst of Extreme Heroism for her valorous actions during the Battle of Hill Four Hundred Twenty-One and the Battle of Heaven's Pass. Lieutenant Storch's dedication, initiative, and fortitude resulted in the successful defense of Hill Four-twenty-one as well as the destruction of Major Randall's plans to capture the nuclear weapons on this base to use against unknown targets." He paused and General Reed stepped forward and pulled the medal out of its case, placing the lanyard over her head so that the medal rested upon her chest. Storch almost breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that it was over, but Colonel MacDougal continued.

"In addition, Brigadier General Reed, acting upon the recommendation of Storch's commanders, has placed special trust and confidence in the patriotism, integrity-" (was that a hint of amusement in his voice?) "-and abilities of First Lieutenant Storch. In view of these special qualities and her demonstrated potential to serve the higher grade, First Lieutenant Storch is promoted to the permanent grade of Captain, Earth Expeditionary Forces Army, effective immediately. By order of the Commanding General of the EEF, Brigadier General Sarah E. Reed." General Reed stepped in front of her and Storch saluted as snappily as she could. The salute was returned, and then Reed held out her hand, pressing her captain's bars into her hand as they shook.

Then it was one more round of salutes, and then General Reed ordering her to stand at ease before turning around. "At ease," General Reed ordered the rest of the room, and the soldiers in the room applauded, some of their faces proud, others kept carefully blank. "As I'm sure many of you know, during the war we lost many fine officers across every level imaginable. Even though the fighting has largely died down, we still need exceptional officers to not only replace those that were lost, but also to start progressing in their own careers. Captain Storch is just such an officer, and I can't think of anyone else more qualified to be promoted than she is. I look forward to seeing her further develop as an officer and as an individual in the Army. Captain?"

And then everyone was looking at her, and she blinked, speechless. She had not only been promoted, but she had been awarded the _highest military decoration that could be earned_! She felt confused and dizzy, but woodenly opened her mouth. "I, uh, I certainly wasn't expecting this to happen today, when I woke up. Thank you, ma'am, for the honor of…" she stopped, biting her lip, thinking of Tan, still lying on his bed, still diminished, but at least he was off of life support, and there was positive brain activity. He wasn't dead yet, but he wasn't _here_. "Thank you." And she stepped back, medal bouncing against her chest, heavy with metal and with the ghosts of those very few who had earned it before her. The rest was a blur, the room being called to attention and then being told to fall out. A few approached her, but she couldn't remember who, much less what they had said, just that her hand had been shaken a few times. And then the room was empty, save for one other officer, who looked far more approachable now than she had an hour ago. "Ma'am, I…I don't deserve this," she whispered, not even looking at General Reed.

"I know." The words were sympathetic, not harsh, and Storch looked up to see an understanding in Reed's eyes. "Well, you do deserve it, but it's good that you don't think so. I find that the twits who think that they deserve medals generally don't last very long. You, at least, are burdened properly with honor, valor, and the lives of your soldiers."

A tear rolled down her cheek as her throat tightened. "God, so many dead! And all my fault…I killed Captain Burns, First Sergeant Balow, and everyone else dead on that hill. How have I earned this medal, ma'am?!"

"Don't get angry with me, Captain. And you didn't kill them, the enemy did, by using highly specialized personnel who had been training for nearly _ten years_ for that one mission. Yes, they tricked you, and that's too bad, but if it weren't for your actions, if it wasn't for your attempts to keep up the fighting spirit of the other defenders by any means necessary, that hill wouldn't have been a stronghold, it would have been a mass grave!" Reed snapped, voice flinty. "I'm ordering you to go to counseling, your doctors will see to your schedule."

"And you want me to be a Captain, ma'am?" she asked, voice carefully blank.

"Yes. And not just me. It's not my signature on the line, Storch, it's Treleaven's. I'm only responsible for the final authorization, the very final push. You were to be promoted and then moved to the XO of one of the British companies after you got back from the Hill. That had come from the recommendation of Captain Burns. You had done very well for yourself, and we had all wanted to see how you did in a different environment."

Storch nodded, sighing at the same time. If only things had ended differently. "And now?"

"You're going to be the Company Commander of Delta Company. We're pulling in Lieutenants from other commands to fill what positions we can, and some NCOs are going to be getting battle commissions. The next wave of soldiers qualified to refill Delta completely are three years and forty-seven days away, already in transit. You'll be pretty light for a while, Commander, I'd suggest collapsing a platoon and modifying your tactics to reflect that, but it's not my company. Oh, and speaking of that…" she said lightly, and then her face hardened into something that would scare a basilisk. "If you _ever_ disobey an order I give without a damn good reason, I can assure you that history will not look on you very highly, _Captain_!" she hissed in a voice cold enough to freeze liquid nitrogen. "The only reason you have that around your neck and not a noose is because of how much respect General Treleaven and I have for you, and the fact that your actions saved us all."

Storch's blood ran cold. "You mean…"

"You haven't read your entire transcript for that medal, but it turned out that they had about thirty seconds before the missiles were ready to launch. We'll never be certain of the targets, but the keys were in the ignition, and they had the codes almost, _almost_ decrypted and cleared. Had the team that we originally selected gone in, they would have taken at least thirty seconds prepping for the breach, checking for traps and such. Hell, I've talked to the officer leading the team. He told me that he would have definitely waited for too long, just trying to figure out if the open door was a trap or not, and if it was, how was the safest way to spring it. Your stupidity and desire for revenge saved us all, Captain. However, I consider that luck, and little else. Keep in mind, that I'm a product of my time, and we were taught about _Auftragstaktic_ while I was in OCS, so I understand the value of purposefully vague orders, get the mission done rather than do the mission this way, and that sometimes a disobedient and intelligent subordinate is more valuable than an obedient and stupid one, but those occasions are rare, rare indeed. I expect great things from you, Captain Ellen Storch. But know that I will be watching you and your evaluation reports _very_ closely for a long time. Am I understood?"

Storch cleared her throat to hide how shocked and quite honestly frightened she was. "Yes, ma'am. You're perfectly understood."

"Excellent. You're dismissed."

Shakily, she turned and made her way to the exit, her cane thumping against the floor as she moved. She opened the door, and blinked in surprise as Tanja smiled at her from the corridor. That's right, she had been planning on eating lunch with her. Well, now it was going to be a later lunch, but she knew that Tanja didn't mind, and would never mind. She held out her hand, and Storch grasped it with a shaky smile. Tanja didn't say anything, somehow aware that she didn't have to. No, they made their way in quiet, comfortable silence, hands joined.

xxxXXXxxx

"So you can imagine how good we felt," she told Tanja as they relaxed in the café attached to the hospital. The coffee was still synthetic, but better than nothing. It had been a week since her promotion, and this had seemed like the first chance for them to enjoy themselves. Physical therapy was still a pain, but it was slowly getting easier. She had some free time, and had invited Tanja to come and have a cup of coffee. And so, here they were, lounging, Tanja's eyes twinkling with merriment as she listened to Storch tell her stories about basic training. "I mean, we had cleaned _everything_! It was probably the best that the barracks had looked since it had been built way back when. The drill sergeant goes into the latrine, and we're all looking at each other, like, we've got this, there's no way we messed up." She paused grinning at the memory, though at the time it had been frankly horrifying. "So the drill sergeant goes into the latrine, and a couple of minutes later we hear this horrified and completely pissed 'Oh, _HELL_ no!' Turns out that someone had dropped a load in the toilet and not flushed. My God, the smoking that followed was epic," she laughed along with Tanja, who was laughing so hard that she was almost crying. "Basic sucked, a lot of the time, but sometimes I almost miss it. How about you? What was your initial training like?"

Tanja made a flipping gesture with her hand before sipping at her tea. "Nothing like your training, I'm sure," she grinned. "A lot of class time, and much reading of the manuals. A lot of running and climbing hills, some time with engineering tools. We had our…how do you say…smoking, but I'm thinking not like you." She took another drink of her tea, and was about to go on when an orderly arrived.

"Uh, Captain Storch, ma'am? You had said that you wanted to be told when Sergeant Tan awoke, and-"

Whatever else he had planned to say went unheard. Storch was already up, hobbling away as fast as she could, cane aiding her journey. In minutes, she was standing in his doorway. There he was, lying there, still surrounded by tubes and machines, but his eyes were open, and he was speaking quietly to the doctor. When he saw her, he smiled softly. Suddenly nervous, she stepped into the room, aware the Tanja was behind her. "Hey, Sarn't. How you feeling?" she asked timidly, not sure how he would react. To her relief, his smile widened.

"Like I've been shot," he replied dryly. "So I've heard that you've been promoted, ma'am. Congratulations."

"Couldn't have done it without you, Tan, you know that. So, how long until you get back on your feet and continue being the kick ass platoon sergeant that you are?"

The smile fled from his face, and the doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably as he continued to check the machines about the room. "Ma'am, I'm not…I'm not coming back."

Time stopped, and the world around her grayed. Sergeant First Class Tan, not coming back to the military that was such a big part of his life? It was impossible! Wasn't it? "What do you mean, Sergeant?" she asked, voice trembling slightly. Let him crack a smile big enough to crease his eyes, let him cry out 'Boy, did I have you!' as the doctor joined in with the joke.

He took a deep breath, eyes fixed steadily on the foot of his bed, and she noticed just how _tired_ he looked, how worn down. "I've suffered nerve damage. The bullet to my neck…it nicked my spine. I'm lucky to not be completely paralyzed, Buddha be thanked that I'm not! But I…I can't control my left arm and leg, not very well, at least. I might be able to walk, with assistance, but I'll never be able to perform at the levels that I would have to perform at to be in the Army again." He paused, jaw muscles working. "The doctors expect that there will be further complications. By all rights, I should have died, and I am eternally thankful for whatever time I have from here on out." Again he paused, and she could feel the ominous presence pushing down on her.

"But…?" she prompted, knowing that there was more that he wasn't telling her.

His eyes closed, tightly, as though he was in pain, and the doctor stepped forward, opening his mouth to say something. Before he could say a word, however, Tan raised his hand. "The nervous damage may or may not deteriorate with time. The doctors here…they were surprised I woke up, honestly. But I have no doubt that they were right when they said that I will never fully recover, and that it will be a miracle if I live long enough to see the arrival of the medical equipment that they would need to fix the damage done." His eyes opened, and they were dark, filled with a terrible burden that he had to bear alone. "I am slowly dying, ma'am, and there's no way to tell when I will die. It could be today, it could be years from now."

She blinked, confused. She had just been standing up, so why was she sitting on the floor, several hands supporting her? Everything seemed distant, as though she was watching herself experience them, and she woodenly shook her head, trying to make sense of things. Through the ringing that she slowly became aware of, she heard people calling her name, voices concerned. Slowly she collected herself, aware that she had blacked out, possibly even passed out. And who wouldn't, after hearing such terrible news? Sergeant Tan, who could out PT her any day of the week, the ogre Platoon Sergeant whose energy made him seem almost larger than life…he was now crippled. He couldn't _use the left side of his body, and it was __**her**__ fucking fault_! She grit her teeth, and gathered up her cane from where it had fallen to the ground, undoubtedly dropped when she had collapsed. "I see," she heard herself say. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to come back. I just…I can't…"

And then she was in the hallway, limping heavily towards her quarters, Tanja close on her heels, a comforting presence. She didn't know how she managed it, but it wasn't until her room's door closed behind them with a click that she collapsed into Tanja's arms, sobbing uncontrollably as the full implications of Tan's condition hit her with merciless, unrelenting waves. Her best friend and truest battle buddy was dying, it was her fault, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it!

xxxXXXxxx

She didn't go to physical therapy the next day. She had barely even left the bed, even when it grew cold after Tanja had left, so very early in the morning after whispering that she needed to report to her unit, and that she would be back after the duty day was done. Of course she did. She still had her platoon, still had a platoon sergeant, still had a body that wasn't _broken_ like _hers_ was, and-!

She took a deep, steadying breath. What made this whole situation worse was that she knew precisely what was going on. She was suffering from PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Her experiences in battle were leading her to have feelings of helplessness, depression, anger, and uselessness. And despite the fact that she _knew_ what was going on, _knew_ that she needed help, help that she could easily get…she just didn't _care_. She knew that she wasn't acting like she should…heck, if this were a novel that she was reading, she'd say that she was being out of character. She'd also probably insist that she buck up, stop bitching, and move on with life, preferably with the aid of some heavy duty medications. Easy enough to say when you're reading the book, not living it. Living it meant remembering everything, seeing in her mind's eye the CP get blown up by the Na'vi, smelling the smoke, blood, and death that came with battle, hearing the howling hordes hurling themselves up that damned hill time and time again! She whimpered, curling deeper into the blankets of her bed, curling deeper into herself.

She lost track of time, losing herself to her memories. When her datapad chimed softly, she blinked, pulling herself out of her self-made pit of despair, and turned her head, noting dimly that her pillow was wet, though she didn't remember crying. A quick glance at the gently glowing screen told her that she had a new message. Curiosity piqued, she picked the tablet up and tapped the pulsing icon. The message that popped up wasn't what she was expecting, not at all.

_Alright, Ell-tee, on your feet, and smarten up, do you hear me?! As your Platoon Sergeant, I've got a lot to tell you, and not much time before my nurse yells at me, so open up your ears!_

She had smiled at that. Back in training while on Earth, that had been one of his favorite commands to troops that needed to get yelled at. She could both picture and hear him shouting that, accent more pronounced in his anger, one hand on his hip, the other held in a rigid knife-hand, pointing at the poor soldier who had incurred his wrath. She continued to read.

_When we first met, you asked, no, ordered me to quietly urge you back onto the right path whenever you made a mistake. Well, I'm not nudging, I'm shoving. In all my years of military service, I've known many officers, and while you aren't the best I've met, you are most certainly one of the better ones. I am completely honest when I say that serving as your platoon sergeant was one of the greatest honors of my life. You have made mistakes, yes. We all have, for we are human, and it is our fate to err. But what differentiates the weak from the strong is the ability to move on! We get knocked down, we get beaten, our bodies fail us…but it takes true strength to get back up, to heal, to push our bodies to new heights._

_Right now, ma'am, you need to be as strong as I know you are. Yes, our boys and girls died, and I am crippled for the rest of my life. I have already accepted to this, and when I pass on, I will meet my next life with a smile, knowing that I brought honor to my family and that I spent my life doing what was RIGHT. I have little regrets about how I spent my life. Our boys and girls…to paraphrase a great man, they sang their death songs and died like heroes going home…_

Her breath caught in her throat.

_All of them were scared, as all are when they go into battle, but they were brave, too, and fought to the best of their abilities, trusting in you not to preserve their lives, but to preserve the life of the unit. As the saying goes, soldiers come and go, but the Army is eternal. Their trust in you was well spent. You saved the unit, held the hill, and then cast down madness before the world succumbed to flames. However, their task is done, and they rest in eternal peace now, returned to the heavens of their faiths. Now the task falls on you, Captain Ellen Storch. The task falls on you to learn, to strengthen yourself, to go on, bearing the weight of their deaths and the lives of those still living. You must stand up, shake yourself off, and take that brave step forward, that step forward to a harder future. Do not do this just for you. Do this for those who died. Carry their names with pride, and do their deaths justice. Your life is no longer your own. They watch from hallowed halls, telling those who bask in eternal grace around them that you were their leader with pride in their voices. Find the strength to earn that pride…earn it, and never give that up!_

_I grow tired now, which is so strange for a man who has slept as long as I have! But the next time you darken my doorway, I expect to see a Captain worthy of your name and your position, not the broken girl that I saw yesterday. And that's an order!_

_With greatest respect and honor,_

_SFC Yong-sun Tan_

She cried. She cried for her soldiers who had died. She cried for Yong-sun Tan. And she cried for herself. But these weren't the painful sobs that had dominated her the previous night. No, these were cleansing tears, soothing her hurt and allowing her to breathe, to think clearly. After enough time passed for her to compose herself, she picked up her room's phone. It only took a few seconds for someone to answer the other end. "This is Captain Storch…yes…yes, I would like to speak to my doctor tomorrow about those counseling sessions that General Reed recommended…yes…uh-huh…I'd also like to talk about medication to combat PTSD…yes, thank you, sir…no, I won't be needing else today, thank you…you too, sir, goodbye." She hung up the phone, stood up, and stretched her arms above her head. With a sigh, she allowed herself to fall forward, her hands slapping onto the cool linoleum, halting her drop, her body in a perfect front leaning rest position. Wordlessly, she began to push, ignoring the slight burning in her hip and her shoulder. The doctor had told her her limits…it was about time she met them!

xxxXXXxxx

The television was on and set to the base's news channel, and she had an ear turned towards it as she did the dishes. It had been eight months since she had received that email from Tan, and while there were still bad days and the medicine sometimes messed with her mind, she was doing much better. It still hurt, and badly, too, going to morning formation, and seeing how few of them that there were. First Sergeant Gonzalez, formerly Platoon Sergeant Gonzalez, was doing well in his new position, even as he was taking evening classes to learn the new position. She still didn't have an XO, and that would likely last until the next load of soldiers came in. Everyone was short on troops, it was just a fact of life now. She had done as Reed had suggested, all those months ago, and collapsed a platoon, and it had worked, even if her heart hurt every time that there was a formation. She still expected to see Private Sanchez's bright and eager face as he stood ready with the guidon, still expected to see Tan being an ogre, still expected so many things…but that was the past, and there was no returning to it. Now it was her in charge of the entire company, and a British lieutenant was in charge of her platoon. He was a good officer, and he had told her platoon to show him no mercy, something that SSG Service, now Platoon Sergeant and likely to be promoted once he went before the board, had sworn with a vicious grin that they would never do.

At least her living accommodations were better now. Where before she had practically been living in a cubby, now she had a small apartment, complete with bathroom, small kitchen, and living room. Rank hath its privileges, after all. It had definitely helped that there was no trace of the apartment's previous occupant when she moved in…the cleaners had been quite thorough. Just the knowledge that Captain Burns had lived here was bad enough, really. If she had seen his stuff, she probably would have started crying again. She had cried enough to last a lifetime, it seemed. Shutting the tap off after she rinsed the last dish, she dried her hands and walked to the living room, glancing at the two soldiers sitting at a desk, the screen behind them projecting the news that they were talking about.

"-and the peace talks have finally concluded with a treaty favoring both humanity and the Na'vi. General Reed has promised that she will back up the human side of the treaty so long as she remains in power. One of the aspects of the treaty that should go a long way to improving relations between our two races is the formation of a military task force that will enforce it. Williams?"

"Yes, it was actually originally suggested by General Reed. This task force will be made up of elements from both the EEF and the Na'vi Army. While it hasn't been confirmed-" and a picture of her appeared on the screen behind the two, "-it is believed that Delta Company of the Fourth Special Operations Group, now commanded by Captain Ellen Storch, will be taking the lead role in this cooperative effort."

"Captain Storch has already had an illustrious career on Pandora so far, and was the recent recipient of the Starburst of-"

She turned the television off. She didn't want to listen to a couple of talking heads blather on about her career, about her 'heroic deeds' during the war. She relived it too often as it was. Shaking her head, she pulled up some files sent to her by First Sergeant Gonzalez, some standard stuff about the running of the company, training schedules, soldiers in trouble, soldiers out of trouble, what have you. Might as well get some of this stuff out of the way before-

The door buzzed, more a formality than anything else, as the person had the doorcode. The doorbell was more of a 'hey, I'm here' than a 'hey, let me in' and Tanja knew it. The lock beeped, and then the door slid open, revealing Tanja with some bags in her arms, likely some groceries. Woman had been spending more time here than at her own place, Storch thought to herself fondly as she powered down her datapad. "What's for supper tonight, hun?" Using the term of endearment sent a thrill through her, just like it did every time. She had asked her to be her girlfriend the same night that Tan had sent his email that had gotten her on the road of recovery. Hell, Tanja _was_ part of her recovery. She could finally lay the ghosts of her past to rest and move forward. She had been slightly afraid that Tanja, who was openly bisexual, would say no, that she was happy with the current 'friends with benefits' arrangement. But she had smiled that beautiful smile and said yes. Tanja had made these months bearable. Without her, she'd be nothing, and that scared her at the same time that it thrilled and invigorated her.

"Thai, tonight, and I was being careful in picking the peanut sauce that you are so liking, yes?"

"Marry me!"

Tanja's head snapped up from where she had been looking down, untying her boots. "What?" she asked, tone shocked, her eyes wide with surprise. No doubt her own face almost matched Tanja's…she hadn't expected to ask the question, either!

However…she was resolved to see this through. She hadn't expected to ask it, but that didn't mean that she didn't mean it! "Marry me," she repeated breathlessly. "Tanja, you…you're my best friend, my lover, my partner, my _life_. Without you I wouldn't be where I am today, and I can't bear the thought of not having you with me. So please, please marry me!"

Tanja stared at her for a moment, her face blank. And then she smiled, and it was like the world slowed to a halt. "_Da_!" she cried happily, and then rattled something off in lightning fast Russian, too fast for Storch to catch. "_Da_!" she cried again, and then leapt into her arms. Needless to say, their dinner went forgotten, growing cold as it sat on the living room floor…

xxxXXXxxx

The wedding had come four months later. Not the first wedding to be held on Pandora, but nonetheless, her name was attached to yet another notable statistic: theirs was the first same sex marriage on Pandora. It had been the happiest day in her life, a day that would hold that place until two years later when the housing districts had been set up well enough that families could start being made. It had been a relief to leave the confines of the base, which was now merely a military base, and not the last shelter for humanity on Pandora. They had gone to the right doctors, made the right phone calls, got the right donors, and had agreed that Tanja would bear the first child, and that she would bear the second. It would be the end note of Tanja's military career. She had served well, and proudly, and had started her own engineering and construction company in her spare time. Due to who Storch was, Tanja's company had first rights to any of the buildings that Yong-sun Tan, USASF (ret.) had designed before he passed away, peacefully, seven months after their wedding. Tanja and her company would certainly be busy for some time.

The pregnancy was another first for Pandora. Medical advances had finally gotten to the point that genetic modification of human offspring would be more suited to Pandora. Moon-born humans would be a quarter taller than those from Earth, would have the same carbon-shielded bones, and would be able to breathe unaided in the alien atmosphere. It had been a difficult choice for them, but they volunteered to be the first to have true human children of Pandora.

It was a complete success.

It was difficult, as the children had difficulty breathing in an Earther-friendly atmosphere, so either mother or child would have to have exopacks whilst in each other's presence, but they showed that it could be done, that humans would be able to live here, truly live here without relying on life support.

Storch dedicated her life to the military. Her deeds had earned her fame, and the souls that she carried on her shoulders tempered her, allowed her to grow into any position that she was given. She worked for years alongside the Na'vi, making sure that violators of the treaty, either human _or_ Na'vi, would not go unpunished. Her no-nonsense nature and willingness to work with the Na'vi earned their respect. Due to her connection with Storch, Tanja's company was one of the sub-contractors that helped build two stereolithography plants for the Na'vi, a sign of humanity's trust in the Na'vi. They could manufacture their own weapons, and Storch was one of the most fervent of supporters of sending teachers to the Na'vi, to teach them modern tactics.

Jakesully and Ney'tiri would come to count Storch as one of their staunch allies, a pillar of support through thick and thin. Never their friend, but someone who would follow Treleaven's and Reed's legacy to the letter. She was there when human doctors repaired Jakesully's spine, allowing him to walk once more. She was there when human insurgents, unhappy with how the treaty regulated where they could live and what they could trade, tried to assassinate Ney'tiri. She helped the Na'vi hunt down the insurgents, using both the Na'vi elite warriors and Delta Company to great effect. She was selected to be the commanding officer and the human liaison for Hell's Gate when the old human fortress was selected to be the site of a new army, one made of both the new breed of humans and of Na'vi braves. She was there, backing up the Na'vi when Earther colonists tried to change the treaties to suit human interest. Her long and illustrious career and her political backing had helped prevent a new and terrible war between the humans and the Na'vi. Human political leaders would never forget her devotion not only to humanity but also to peace and prosperity for all on Pandora, and she would serve as a Chief of Staff for two Prime Ministers.

And now…

Four people made their way across a graveyard, one set with military precision. The small road behind them led to a gate that was flanked by plaques that explained that this was the final resting place of the first of the EEF, laid out in neat formation for all eternity, ready to meet their superiors and brothers and sisters in arms in the next life. Two of the four were in full dress uniform, a young man and an old woman who supported herself with a cane as she limped along, her dress uniform resplendent with ribbons and awards, including a ribbon around her neck that bore the Starburst of Extreme Heroism. Two stars decorated her shoulder boards, and her gray hair was kept neatly short. Her shoulders were thin, and bent with age, but she still marched with military precision her hazel eyes sharp and alert behind the clear lens of her exopack. The young man towered over her, shoulders broad, Captain's bars on his shoulders. He was her youngest son, and the only to follow his mothers' military tradition, something the both of them had been glad for. He, his brother, and his sister all walked without exopacks, breathing freely in the Pandoran air, all of them tall, all of them bearing their mothers' good looks. An officer in the Army, a professional firefighter, and a civilian pilot, all three of them bringing pride and honor to both their mothers. All three of them fine children who had grown into fine adults, and the two oldest were raising fine children of their own.

No, Major General Ellen Storch thought to herself, her children were some of the best who had been raised on Pandora. Maybe not the flashiest, but that was to be expected. She was glad that none of them would have to deal with the childhood that either she or Tanja had had to deal with. They grew up in a time of peace and prosperity. Once the FTL drives for starships were perfected, their grandchildren might even be able to vacation to Earth and to Mars. Rumor had it that Earth was even growing green again. Unobtanium had been used wisely and to great effect, and Earth's children had come in a great exodus across the stars to this moon. Laws had been put in place limiting the number of children per family, but Pandora was such a vast place, and the humans and Na'vi worked hand-in-hand, brothers and sisters of the same moon. And she had helped that come into being.

She came to a halt, looking at the sign set in the ground. 3RD PLT, D CO, 2ND BN, 4TH SOG. Many of the graves of this one platoon were already filled, just as those in her sister platoons were, as well. Just last year, she came out here for Service's funeral. A sad affair, the man had made a great NCO. Before long, she would be lying here, right next to…

"Hey, Platoon Sergeant," she breathed softly, voice cracked with age and years of barking out orders. She was aware of her children moving to a respectable distance, allowing her some privacy. "It's been a while since I last came, and I just wanted to let you know the current situation."

A gust of wind blew over the yard, and she grinned ruefully, sadly, to herself.

"Yeah, I know, Tanja isn't here with me for this visit. She's babysitting our grandkids right now, probably teaching the little hellions how to cuss in Russian or something, maybe tell them some fanciful stories about the good old days. I'm sure you've already met with them, but Service and a few others have joined up with the Platoon since the last time I had the chance to talk. Make sure none of them get too lippy in my absence." She paused, briefly, letting the urge to cry swell up and recede once more.

"Jake and Ney'tiri are getting along fine in their old age…I swear they'll outlive all of use, Eywa be willing as they would say. Harrison…old goat has lung cancer, again. He had been in remission for a while, as I'm sure you remember me telling you, but it cropped up again. I don't know if he'll shake it this time, he…he's getting old, Tan. We're all getting so _old_! Chacon is still her firey self, but the arthritis is really getting to her, I can tell. Her daughter helps as much as she can, but she's running her mom's air transportation company at the same time, and is so busy, if the last letter was right. Can you believe that Chacon already has great grandkids? If I last another seven or eight years, maybe I'll see the same thing, but I don't know…I'm retired from everything, but it gets a little harder to get out of bed each morning. I know that the same thing is happening to Tanja. We'll keep fighting, as that's our way, but I'm thinking that our time to regroup with all you old timers is fast approaching. I must say, I look forward to seeing you all again."

A drop of rain hit her hands where they rested atop her cane, and she looked up. Rain showers, moving in pretty fast. Not likely to be too bad of a storm, but still…good a time as any to go. "Right, Platoon Sergeant. I believe that that's all I have to report." She popped to attention, and saluted the same snappy salute that she had given him all those years ago, when they had first met. "Reapers never quit! Carry on!" She paused for a moment before dropping her arm and performing a neat about face. Her children were waiting for her, and her wife was waiting for their return. She glanced up once more, and spotting a Valkyrie flying in for the spaceport. Likely a new load of immigrants. Humanity had really turned into a never-ending rain from Earth, she mused. But where some rains were destructive, others were nurturing, allowing for new things to grow. She took a confident step. She had helped the never-ending rain be one of peace, growth, and prosperity. That, she knew, was something that one could be proud of.

It was time to go home…


End file.
